


dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared

by isolationqueen (bisousniall)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Canon Era, Character Death, Dark, Dreams, Druids, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Ritual Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisousniall/pseuds/isolationqueen
Summary: Prince Arthur’s dreams were getting increasingly disturbing.Arthur gets attacked one late autumn afternoon whilst searching for a missing Morgana. He wakes up in Merlin's hut, injured and unable to return to the castle due to the harsh winter that has settled over Camelot. He's forced to spend his winter in the small hut, with this strange man who is destined to be in his life, somehow.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 121





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WOW. I started working on this in April, maybe a week after I finished watching Merlin for the first time. Now, five months later, I'm surrounded by a wonderful community of fans in one of the most welcoming and lovely fandoms I've ever had the pleasure to be part of.
> 
> They say it takes a village, and in this case it's 100% correct. Thank you to my friend [Lindsay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icecreamsocialist/pseuds/icecreamsocialist) who is not even in this fandom and yet still beta'd a whole ass 24k fic, she also listened to me talk about this fic repeatedly, until I finally made Merlin friends (and even afterwards too). Thank you to everyone in the merlinoutofcontext and merlin fic book club discord servers for the support and all of the writing sprints, without which I surely would not have finished this ever. Thank you to the people who helped beta, [merthurmagic025](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merthurmagic025/pseuds/merthurmagic025), [mother_of_lions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_of_lions/pseuds/mother_of_lions), and [excaliburstark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Excaliburstark/pseuds/Excaliburstark). Thank you to my porn queen [violetpeche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetpeche/pseuds/violetpeche). And a big big thank you to [goblinechild1](https://twitter.com/goblinechild1) for the wonderful art.
> 
> A note about some of the warnings: **Virginity is not real**. I know this, but they did not back then. I apologize for the antiquated beliefs portrayed in this fic lol. The explicit sex scene includes barebacking, oral sex, fully penetrative bareback (no condoms back then so) as well as comeplay/felching. It also involves animal blood, not human blood, but there's no explicit animal sacrifice scene. Nor is there a graphic hunting scene, although a boar does die. Also, in regards to the character death **neither Merlin or Arthur dies**. If you'd like to see who does die, you can scroll to the endnotes.
> 
> With all of that out of the way, I hope you enjoy!

_deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,  
doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;  
but the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token_

*

Prince Arthur’s dreams were getting increasingly disturbing. 

_He’s on his knees, in a forest untouched by light, the old magic is palpable, even by someone with Arthur’s inexperience. The leaves quiver with it. He’s completely exposed, physically and spiritually, to the man before him. He has dark hair. Arthur can’t see his face, but he can feel the energy the man is exuding._

_Arthur is not afraid of him._

_Something shifts and then suddenly Arthur is aware of an odd sensation. His chest, pale and exposed, is dripping blood. He’s holding a knife. He’s carved a symbol into his own chest, a five pointed star within a circle._

_He smiles._

Arthur awakes with a start, clasping his own chest where mere seconds ago he could feel the burn from the knife, could feel the blood dripping down his own skin. He glances down and sees nothing, only a couple scars and blemishes from past injuries. He collapses back down onto his pillow with a sigh. In that moment he feels more alone than ever before.

King Uther is like a man possessed. Arthur doesn’t know how to handle it, and he’s spent his entire life learning the right way to handle the King, his father. They are one in the same although sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. Arthur has spoken only to the King for several weeks. He’s not sure what’s become of his father. Uther wants nothing more than to find Morgana and he refuses to think of anything else. He can’t see how it’s breaking his own son.

Later that same day, when Arthur is sent on another pointless goose chase to find Morgana, he thinks of saying something. The dreams, he knows he can’t speak of them, but he knows they must be warnings. Uther would not understand. Arthur cannot think of a reasonable excuse that Uther would hear and heed. So he clamps his mouth shut with a tense jaw. He can only nod before leaving Uther’s presence. 

He sees Gwen in the hall leaving the Throne room. He hasn’t spoken to her much since Morgana first went missing, because she makes him feel the loss of Morgana much more intensely. Gwen’s main concern has always been Morgana, and now that she’s not here, Gwen seems without purpose. She mainly just helps the other servants with whatever needs doing. Arthur thinks that if Uther wasn’t still holding onto the stubborn hope Morgana would be found, that he would release Gwen from her position in the Royal household. Gwen passes with a deferential head bow.

About an hour before Arthur is meant to leave, he’s in Gaius’s chambers drawing a crude recollection of the symbol he saw carved in his own chest in the dream. 

“Where did you see this?” Gaius asks, that single eyebrow of his arched in familiar concern. 

“In the forest one day. Carved into a tree,” Arthur lies carefully. He’s been ruminating on a solid excuse in the few hours since he came up with this plan. Something vague and untraceable. It’s not that Arthur doesn’t trust him, but Gaius is a worrier.

“It’s a symbol of Christ,” Gaius says. “The pentangle. Each point symbolizes the wounds Jesus Christ received during crucifixion.”

“Why would someone carve it, I mean… into a tree?”

“I can’t really answer that.”

Arthur knows Gaius is lying, but he can’t prove otherwise, and he’s running out of time. He’s got plenty to do before he sets out to look for Morgana with his men. He thanks Gaius for his time and bids him farewell.

The autumn air is frigid and gusty with the promise of winter soon arriving. Arthur is sure snow isn’t far off. He dresses appropriately, his servant adding layer upon layer to his uniform, his armour and red cape capping it all off. 

He passes through the halls of the castle, and then stops. He hesitates as he reaches a fork where either he could turn right to leave or left to Uther’s chambers to say goodbye.

He turns right. 

His servant doesn’t say anything.

“Arthur!” 

Arthur is just about to mount his horse when he hears his name being called. It’s Gwen, running down the front steps of the castle. He pulls away, hands the reins to his servant.

“Guinevere, what is it?” 

She stops in front of him and gives a short curtsy before continuing. 

“I wanted to give you this, for luck.”

It’s a stone medallion with a large tree carved on it, beautifully made. 

“It was Morgana’s, but she gave it to me some years ago. It’s meant to grant protection to the wearer. I thought it might help you find her,” Gwen explains.

Arthur slips it around his neck. “I shall wear it until I find her, thank you Guinevere.”

Arthur is correct in his estimation. Once he’s up on his horse, cantering through the fields and into the forests surrounding Camelot, he feels like an icy grip has taken over and he’ll never recover. He’s stiff like a board and unable to move with his horse as it canters forwards. 

Perhaps he’ll be able to blame it on the cold, one day. Perhaps if it had been a beautiful and mild spring or summer's eve he would have noticed that he was riding into an ambush. Several hours of riding later, as the sun is beginning to set, he leads his men into danger and doesn't even think twice.

It happens too fast for Arthur to get a grip on reality: arrows are shooting out from behind trees, his horse rearing up, he falls off as he’s reaching for his sword. He hits the ground hard, knocking the breath out of him. Someone is above him, immediately. A mercenary, Arthur supposes. It doesn’t matter. Right now it’s kill or be killed, and he wouldn’t like to do either, but the first is more attractive, currently. He rolls to avoid getting stabbed from above. He finally wrangles his sword out but isn’t able to do much more before he’s being swung at again. He ducks to avoid the sword and scrambles onto all fours before another swing comes and he’s forced to duck again. He’s finally able to get to his feet and defend himself properly. He gets in a few good swings, but the man he’s fighting is fierce, almost feral with his anger. Arthur is forced to back up a few times to avoid getting struck in the gut. 

He takes another step back. The ground beneath his feet gives way and he tumbles several feet down into the river below. His head clunking solidly against something hard is the last thing he remembers before passing out, his body floating rapidly down the river.

_Arthur immediately recognizes the same man from his previous dream. He’s tall, dark hair. Arthur cannot see his face but he knows it’s the same man right away._

_Arthur is knelt before him, once again, kowtowed to the power the man wields. It’s dizzying, to say the least. To be open and vulnerable with this person. A large and ancient blackthorn tree protrudes from the rich earth behind him, its tips set alight with flame. Arthur can only feel the cold earth on his knees and legs. He’s made slowly aware that his hands are tied behind his back but there is no pain, just the strain of his shoulders being pulled back in an unnatural, but not uncomfortable pressure. He feels exposed but he does not break eye contact with the man in front of him._

_His mouth is dripping blood. The man in front of him reaches out and catches a drop of it with his thumb. Arthur feels shaken._

His head is throbbing and he doesn’t know where he is. These are the first two thoughts that enter his head upon waking. He tries to open his eyes but everything is blurry and shadowed. He’s warm, at least, and in a bed. He can tell that much, but there’s not much else. He tries to sit up but finds he cannot manage it.

“Alright, not so fast.” A soft and steady voice is at his side in a second. “You’re quite injured, please, lie back down.” The voice is unfamiliar but Arthur feels calmed by it, like the person’s presence is a comfort in itself. He hasn’t the energy to protest; he lets himself be gentled back onto the bed. 

“Please, rest.”

Arthur falls quickly back into sleep.

When Arthur awakes some time later his head is no longer pounding, but he’s thirsty and he’s still confused. He finds he’s able to sit up with greater ease. 

How long was he asleep?

When he opens his eyes it’s much the same sight, although he can see more of the shadowed and warm place he’s been holed up in. A significant portion of the hut is taken up by a fireplace in the corner, containing a large and roaring fire, a cauldron sitting engulfed in the flames. The rest of the hut is cluttered, lived-in, Arthur supposes. It’s full of things, Arthur can’t really focus on any of it. 

He successfully manages to swing his legs out from under the covers and they touch the chilly floor. A shiver wracks his body. He spies his waterskin sitting atop a folded pile of his clothes next to the bed. He reaches out, clasping with trembling hands, and drains over half of the waterskin. It had been refilled at some point, the water cool and fresh on his parched tongue. He feels it all the way down his chest.

The front door bursts open with a frigid gust of wind, revealing a tall dark figure, bundled up in winter attire. Arthur watches as his host closes and latches the door shut, drops a few items onto an already cluttered table next to the door. He then begins undressing, first the large scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, then his large black cloak is shrugged off and hung up next to the door. It is then his host notices Arthur sitting up. 

The man is young, much younger than Arthur assumed. He is certainly a couple years younger than Arthur’s own twenty and one.

“You’re awake, I had hoped I’d be here for it. I didn’t want you to be frightened.”

Arthur finds himself quite unable to answer. He’s caught on the man’s looks. Dark haired and pale, rather ridiculously protruding ears, his face smooth and youthful. But it’s his eyes that are mesmerizing. There’s an intensity there that Arthur can’t seem to tear himself away from.

“You’ve been out for several days,” his host begins to explain. He sheds a couple more layers until he’s in nothing but a black linen tunic, trousers, and a black neckerchief. It only serves to contrast the paleness of his skin. “I found you in the river not far from here. You’d almost frozen to death. Looked like you’d taken a hit to the head.”

Arthur remembers it, falling into the river. He’d hit his head on something, a rock most likely. He wondered how many days ago that had been.

“I have to get back to Camelot.” Arthur’s throat is scratchy from disuse and his voice comes out quivered and raspy. 

“Are you expected there?”

“The-I mean, my father will certainly be expecting me. He’ll be half mad at this point.”

This boy-man-whomever he is, he certainly did not not recognize Arthur. No, Arthur thinks, it’s best to conceal his true identity. Who knows what kind of person this is. Surely it’s not worth mentioning Uther was already half mad when he left Camelot.

“I’m afraid you will not be able to make it to Camelot for some time. Winter has hit us hard this year.”

“I am not concerned by snow.” 

His host smiles. It’s not unkind but it makes Arthur feel patronized.

“I am sure you are not, but you are weakened. Days of lying in bed, plus the illness that followed from you nearly freezing to death. You are in no condition to travel, nor shall you be for quite some time.”

The man speaks to him in a no-nonsense sort of tone that makes Arthur feel comforted on one hand, and on the other, elicits his contradictory nature. Arthur watches the man as he takes a bowl down from a shelf, takes it over to the cauldron and starts filling it. 

“As I’ve already mentioned, winter has hit us hard this year. The snow out there is nearly up to my thighs, and it’s not stopped yet. Nature rages on.” His host plonks a spoon in the dish, grabs a vial from one of the many covered surfaces in his hut and approaches Arthur. “Drink this, and then eat the stew. You need to start building your strength if you’re ever to make it back before spring.”

“I suppose I should thank you.”

“It would not be unwelcome.”

“Thank you, then. For rescuing me. For letting me stay here. For taking care of me.”

His host smiles, this time it’s less patronizing and more warm. “Eat, please. I’ll join you shortly.”

Arthur takes the vial, knocks it back in one go. It’s absolutely vile. It clearly shows on his face because his host huffs out a laugh.

“I’m not making you take it for the taste, I assure you.”

The stew, however, is wonderful. Warm and hearty, with large chunks of rabbit and root vegetables. Arthur can hardly remember anything tasting so good. He watches his host fiddle around in the kitchen for several minutes, pouring things, grinding things in a mortar and pestle, before finally filling a bowl for himself and seating himself in the chair next to Arthur’s bed. Rather, his host’s bed that Arthur has been using for several days. Suddenly he’s full of questions. The man must have been able to sense it because he laughs a bit.

“I think I can hear your mind working from here.”

Arthur nods. “I’m just realizing, I don’t know what to call you.”

“I suppose you may call me what my family called me. It’s Merlin. What may I call you?”

Arthur’s stomach sinks. Surely he can’t reveal his name, surely the man will be able to figure out who he is. His name is nearly synonymous with Camelot at this point.

“If you can’t remember your own name, perhaps you took greater brain damage than I anticipated.” His host, Merlin, looks over him with concern. Then, Arthur remembers the nickname he had as a child. No one has called him it in ages, but he blurts it out before he can stop himself.

“Aureo.”

“Aureo.” Merlin repeats. “Golden. It suits you.”

“You speak Latin?” Arthur asks. 

“Only a bit.”

“Are you a physician?” 

Merlin laughs, a short breathy one of amusement. “I suppose you could say that. I would call myself a healer.”

“Where have you been sleeping? You’ve graciously let me use your bed for several nights and I fear I can no longer take advantage of your kindness.”

Merlin shakes his head. “I’ve a large pile of blankets I use to sleep on the floor. I assure you it’s quite comfortable, I insist you continue using the bed. You’re injured and there’s no sense in you being on the ground.”

“Your kindness will be rewarded, once I return to Camelot.”

Merlin’s smile drops. “I’m not sure about that. I promise you, I require no reward. I could not let you die out there, and die you would have.”

“Surely I must be able to do something for you.”

“Yes, I suppose there is. Once you are well enough to be up and about I shall put you to work. Hunting, fishing. Gathering wood for fire. It is much more work now, providing for two rather than one.”

Arthur wants to ask after his situation, but he didn’t think it polite to bring up Merlin’s loneliness in such a blunt fashion. It would have to wait for another time.

“I think it’s time for more rest,” Merlin says. He takes the empty bowl from Arthur, stacking it with his own. “Lie back down, I’ll wash up the dishes and then I think I will be off to sleep as well. Winter always makes me tired.”

Arthur yawns and Merlin laughs.

“How did you get to be so wise?”

Merlin shushes him. “We’ll have plenty of time for more talking tomorrow. Rest, now.”

Arthur does as he’s told, tucking himself back into the bed, turning over so his back is to Merlin.

That night Arthur dreams. Weird dreams that have him tossing and turning all night. Waking up with starts, forgetting where he is, sweaty and breathless, mouth bone-dry. 

_He’s in the desert. Nothing but sand as far as his eyes can see. He’s got a shovel and his hands have sores, and he can taste something metallic in his mouth. He looks down. He’s burying his father. Uther’s eyes are open and lifeless, staring up at him, half covered with sand. He drops the shovel with a jump, in shock, and looks up to find himself face-to-face with the Raven. It’s huge and dark, perched on the golden, rich sand. Its eyes beady and penetrating, its feathers glossy and iridescent in the shine of the sun. The Raven squawks, but somehow Arthur understands it. Finish the job, he hears. He looks down at the shovel to see he’s left handprints on it, in the unmistakable rust of dried blood. His hands are covered in it. He tries to scream but he wakes before the sound can leave him._

He bolts upright, immediately aware of his consciousness and hoping he didn’t actually yell. His host is already up and about, puttering around the kitchen. He doesn’t even turn around, just mutters “bad dream?”

“Something like that,” Arthur replies. 

“You’ve slept poorly,” Merlin says with certainty. “I heard you, tossing and turning. I’m afraid I wasn’t able to sleep all that well either.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No matter. Drink your water, eat your frumenty.” 

“Thank you,” Arthur hums, thinks about saying more, but decides against it.

“What is it? You were about to ask something, I can tell.”

Damn this man. Arthur feels like an open book.

“It’s nothing serious, I suppose I just don’t quite understand why you’re doing all this for me. You’re being so kind.”

Arthur is used to being waited on, has known only that all his life, but this man has no idea who Arthur is. He figured without his title he’d be treated as an ordinary person. Which he was, Arthur reminded himself. Just an ordinary person, no different from anyone else. Just the circumstances of his birth. Arthur was taught that his right to the throne, his right to rule over Camelot was handed to him by God. His God-given right as a Pendragon. Outwardly, Arthur carries himself with the arrogance only someone touched by God could. Inwardly, he questions it frequently. When he looks at Merlin, and thinks of himself, he doesn’t sense God at all.

“Are you unaccustomed to kindness?” Merlin asks. Arthur watches as he pours his own bowl of the frumenty before joining Arthur at the seat at the end of the bed. 

“It’s just sometimes I feel like it’s out of obligation more than actual kindness.” Arthur worries that he’s revealed too much about his status. He’s about to try to retract his statement somehow when Merlin replies.

“I think I understand what you mean,” he replies, a wry smile on his face that Arthur barely catches before it’s gone.

“Tell me about yourself, Merlin. I know nothing but your name.”

“There isn’t much to know. I was born in Ealdor, a small farming village in Essetir, not far from Camelot’s borders. My father left before I was born, so growing up it was just my mother and I, trying to make the best of what we had. It usually wasn’t much. I didn’t fit.” Merlin’s expression got darker. “The people there, they didn’t understand me and I couldn’t figure out how to make myself belong there. As soon as I was old enough I set off, promised my mother I would make something of myself. I found this abandoned old hut not long after, spent a whole summer patching it up. It’s been about two years, now.”

“Two years? Completely on your own?”

Merlin shrugs. “Hasn’t been that bad. I like the forest, and I like providing for myself.”

“I did not mean to pass judgement, I-”

Merlin quiets his protest with a wave of his hand. “Don’t apologize, please. I’ve taken no offense. I know it’s unusual, but I am happy.”

“Then I am happy for you,” Arthur says, before he starts in on his breakfast.

The days in the cabin pass both slowly and quickly. In a few days Arthur is able to stand and walk, if only for short periods. Merlin puts him to work preparing items for their meals. Arthur wonders if Merlin questions his shoddy workmanship, surely he can tell Arthur has never cut a vegetable in his life. If he does notice, he says nothing, just smiles the few times they catch each other's eye.

The silence is something else which Arthur is unaccustomed to. Arthur’s life in the castle was filled with noise, from the clashing and clanging of early morning training, to the commanding presence of his father’s orotund voice, to council meetings where everyone was vying to be heard, to the scrape of plates and merriment of feasts. The castle is a loud place to be. That isn’t to say Merlin doesn’t like to fill the hut with inane chatter, for he most certainly does. His voice is lilting and musical in the most pleasing of ways. In one moment it can be light and silvery with playfulness, and the next husky and alluring in its seriousness. Arthur has a hard time keeping up.

Several of their hours pass in silence, however. Merlin is a voracious reader, and Arthur has no doubt Merlin is making his way through all the books in his cabin for the second or even third time. Sometimes he likes to imagine Merlin's reaction upon seeing the library at Camelot. Surely he had never seen so many books in one place before, his mind would hardly be able to fathom it. Arthur did that more than he would admit. That is, picturing Merlin in Camelot with him, showing him around the village and the Lower Town. Bringing him through the castle, showing him all of the nooks and crannies Arthur grew up exploring and learning like the back of his hand. 

This is a foolish fantasy, he knows. Merlin has no idea who he is, and he’s not sure what his opinion would be if he did know. Merlin doesn’t even know his real name, a fact Arthur often forgets, as Merlin very rarely mutters ‘Aureo’ to get his attention. With only the two of them around, there’s hardly any use for names. 

When Merlin learns Arthur is a skilled carver, he provides him with a slim knife and a thick cut of wood. Within a couple days Arthur has carved a crude raven, still in need of detailing. It’s the one from his dream, he supposes. He hadn’t even consciously done it, he just started carving and that’s what came out of it. Like his hands knew before his head did. It takes him a couple more days to finish the fine details, and when he’s done he presents it as a gift to his host, upon his return from gathering firewood. Merlin clutches it carefully, his cheeks and ears reddened from the cold. A pleased smile settles onto his features, making him look young and boyish. Arthur’s stomach flips.

“It’s beautiful.”

There’s another thing Arthur is unaccustomed to: Being alone. Arthur has felt alone for most of his life, even though he’s spent it surrounded by servants, teachers, his father, knights, Gaius, Morgana, and the noblemen of the court. He’s used to feeling lonely, but being undeniably _alone_ is a much different demon. Merlin leaves nearly every day, usually for several hours, coming back with firewood, rabbits, and other things he manages to forage in winter. Most of them things Arthur can not identify. While Merlin is gone, Arthur is left to his own thoughts. It’s not always a pleasant place to be.

Arthur notices the raven sitting prominently on a shelf in-front of Merlin’s books a couple days later.

Arthur loses track of time. It takes nearly a fortnight, he approximates, before Merlin allows Arthur to accompany him outside. He lets Arthur spear fish as he gathers what little berries and herbs there are available in a cold winter such as this. By the time they arrive back to the hut, Arthur is freezing through and exhausted. Merlin lets him huddle under the blankets instead of helping with dinner. For the hundredth time Arthur feels as though he’s taking advantage of Merlin’s kindness. Every time he offers to help, Merlin gives him a stern look and insists that he intends to return him to Camelot in one piece, and that he’d better sit tight and warm his toes under the covers.

Arthur watches Merlin work and wonders how someone who can be so clumsy and silly can also be so sure and deft in his work. It’s like a dance, sometimes, watching Merlin work in the kitchen. Not for the first time since coming here, Arthur feels mesmerized by his movements.

Not just his movements. Later as they sit in companionable silence, Arthur with his knife and a new cut of wood, and Merlin with his attention in a golden brown leatherbound book, he’s enraptured by the movement of shadows on Merlin’s face. The fire casts a dancing light around the hut, and the cut of Merlin’s cheekbones, the dramatic shadow they create on his face, makes him look otherworldly.

Merlin catches him staring.

“Can I help you with something?” Merlin asks, one eyebrow raised.

“What are you reading?” Arthur deflects from his embarrassment at being caught.

“It’s ancient poetry. I don’t even know how old. It’s about love, and, well. Sex.”

“Sex?” Arthur croaks. He tries not to sound as shocked as he is, but he thinks he fails when he sees Merlin’s mischievous grin.

“Yes, Aureo. Sex. Surely a man such as yourself knows what that is. See, when two people desire each other very much-”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Arthur interrupts. “I know what sex is. I’ve just, I didn’t know there were writings on it.”

“If you drop your prudish act, I can read some to you, if you’d like.”

Arthur’s cheeks burn. “I’m not a prude. I’m a gentleman.”

“Indeed.” Merlin focuses back on the open page of his book. He reads slowly, his words sumptuous and full of intent.

_“You have captivated me,  
of my own free will I will come to you.  
Man, let me flee with you—into the bedroom.  
You have captivated me;  
of my own free will I shall come to you.  
Lad, let me flee with you—into the bedroom._

_Man, let me do the sweetest things to you.  
My precious sweet, let me bring you honey.  
In the bedchamber dripping with honey  
let us enjoy over and over your allure, the sweet thing.  
Lad, let me do the sweetest things to you.  
My precious sweet, let me bring you honey._

_Man, you have become attracted to me.  
Speak to my mother and I will give myself to you;_

_speak to my father and he will make a gift of me.  
I know where to give physical pleasure to your body—  
sleep, man, in our house till morning.  
I know how to bring heart's delight to your heart—  
sleep, lad, in our house till morning._

_Since you have fallen in love with me, man,  
if only you would do your sweet thing to me.  
My lord and god, my lord and guardian angel,  
if only you would handle your sweet place,  
if only you would grasp your place that is sweet as honey.  
Put your hand there for me  
like the cover on a measuring cup.  
Spread your hand there for me”_

Arthur listens silently, willing down the way his body reacts to the words Merlin speaks. His breathing shallow, his skin hot and flush, his cock stirring embarrassingly.

“I-I didn’t know,” is all Arthur can manage when Merlin finishes.

“Didn’t know what?”

There's about a million answers Arthur can think of. Foremost, he didn’t know it could feel like that. Didn’t know people wrote of such feelings. Didn’t know Merlin could stir something like that within Arthur.

“Didn’t know you were such a romantic,” Arthur decides on, even though it barely skims the surface of his feelings towards the poem. Merlin smiles, and Arthur’s heart jumps.

“I think that’s enough excitement for one night. I think you need your sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

Arthur is exhausted, he passes out almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. He dreams of honey, sun-warmed skin, and someone to call his own.

Arthur hasn’t been hunting in ages. Merlin is protective of him and his health, maybe a little too protective if you asked Arthur. Merlin won most arguments by saying, “you want to make it back to Camelot by spring, do you not?”

That was something Arthur could hardly argue against.

But one sunny winter afternoon, upon Merlin’s return from his daily trek, he informs Arthur that he will require his help. He managed to track down a wild boar, which would provide meals for at least a fortnight for the two of them, but there was no way he’d be able to take it down by himself. Also, as Arthur had learned, Merlin didn’t seem to be particularly keen on killing animals at all. He hunts rabbits and birds and catches fish, purely for necessity and survival, but there is no joy in it for him. Although Merlin doesn’t say it outloud, Arthur can read it on his face. Merlin isn’t sure he’d actually be able to take the boar down.

Arthur, on the other hand, is nearly giddy with the prospect. Getting out of the hut, Merlin finally letting him help with hunting beyond fishing and setting traps, it’s all Arthur wants, really. He can’t hide his cheerfulness and for the rest of the night he steps about the hut with a spring. Merlin smiles and shakes his head at Arthur’s antics, and the tips of his ears stay pink long after the cold of being outdoors has worn off.

The next day is equally as sunny and they set out as soon as they finish their breakfast. He follows Merlin through a path in the woods, the snow reaching well above their knees. Merlin knows his way around as if these woods were his kingdom, and he were its ruler. Arthur has not done much training recently and finds it hard at times to keep up with the pace Merlin sets. Thankfully, Merlin occasionally turns around and waits for Arthur to catch up before continuing on.

“We need a plan,” Arthur calls out at one point. They’ve been walking for half an hour or so. Merlin stops and turns back to face him.

“A what?”

“Plan. You know. How are we going to take down this boar?”

“Aren’t you just going to, I don’t know, shoot it?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Come on Merlin, use some imagination. Okay, here’s my plan. You catch the boar’s attention, then run from it, it’ll chase you, especially if it’s already rutting. Run it towards me, and I’ll have a straight and clean shot to kill it.”

Merlin looks at him dubiously. “That is the worst plan I have ever heard. I can not out-run a boar.”

“Sure you can, I’ve hardly been able to keep up with you. You’re quick and nimble, you move through the snow as though it is nothing.”

“That is very different from trying to out-run a boar.”

Arthur grabs him by the shoulders to give him a light shake. “I am not going to let you die. My aim is good and I will not miss.”

Several things happen in quick succession: 

Merlin bounds out from between trees yelling “Shoot it! Shoot it!”  
Arthur pulls back his bow, but before he has a chance to shoot, Merlin goes down in a snowbank.  
Arthur hesitates, he releases the arrow and it goes wide.  
The boar bounds after Merlin seconds later, right on track to run him down.  
Arthur, clearly out of his fucking mind from being locked inside for so long, hesitates again. Before he’s had a chance to pull out another arrow, the boar has bypassed Merlin’s sprawled figure and is making his way right at Arthur.  
Arthur manages to leap out of the way, but not before the boar scrapes one of his tusks along Arthur’s thigh, slicing the skin wide open. Arthur crumples to his knees in pain.  
The boar runs past Arthur and for a second he thinks they’ll be okay, but then the boar loops back and heads straight for Arthur again. He reaches for an arrow, but before he can he hears Merlin bellow… something. He doesn’t understand the language but suddenly the boar goes flying backwards, hits a tree, and falls into a heap at the trunk.  
Arthur looks back to Merlin, who is on his feet, one arm and palm outstretched towards the boar.

“You-you’re” Arthur pants out, but his thigh pulses in pain, leaking blood at an alarming rate. He can’t make his mouth form the words in his head.

Merlin doesn’t respond. He reaches into his cloak and rips off a part of his tunic. He’s over at Arthur’s side in an instant, ignoring Arthur’s attempts to push him away.

“Don’t be foolish, you’re going to bleed out here unless you let me help you. I’m going to wrap up the wound, and then we’re going to walk very slowly back to the hut. You’re going to need to support yourself because I need to drag the boar back.”

He’s right, loathe as Arthur is to admit it, so he stops trying to push Merlin away. He lies still as Merlin wraps his wound as tightly as possible.

“This is all I can do for now. I can properly treat you when we get back.”

Arthur accepts Merlin’s shoulder to help him get to his feet. He’s weak, but stable enough and able to slowly move through the snow. He leans against the tree while Merlin ties the boar up with rope so he can drag it behind him.

They walk in silence for a long time, Merlin dragging the boar ahead, looking back more frequently than before to make sure Arthur hasn’t disappeared or fallen behind. It’s a long time before Arthur can find the words he wants, and even then they fall clumsily and accusatory from his lips.

“You have magic,” Arthur says.

“I was born with it,” Merlin replies defensively. Defiantly, even.

“Magic is banned,” Arthur says stupidly. He knows Merlin knows, but he can’t seem to progress his thoughts beyond that point.

Merlin chuckles darkly. “Why do you think I live on my own in the middle of the forest?”

“You lied to me.”

“Technically you never asked ‘Oh Merlin by any chance do you have magic?’ ‘No, no, not me, not Merlin.’” Any other time Arthur might have laughed at the silly voices Merlin put on, but he was beyond that, now.

“You’ve been keeping secrets.”

That finally caused Merlin to stop in his tracks. He turned to face Arthur, his face more full of contempt than Arthur had thought possible.

“I guess we’re all keeping secrets, aren’t we, Prince Arthur?” Merlin spits out his real name as though it tastes vile in his mouth.

Arthur’s stomach drops. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew. The last time I saw you, you had fourteen or fifteen years, but there’s no mistaking you. Not to mention you came to me in chainmail and bearing the Pendragon crest. Your armour took up too much room in the hut so I was keeping it in my storage shed. I was not expecting you to wake up and lie about who you are.”

Arthur’s stomach drops. He had completely forgotten he came to the woods dressed in his chainmail. “I wasn’t sure about what kind of person you were, maybe someone who wanted to hold me ransom for money, or some other nefarious plan. And I was right, you… you’re a sorcerer.”

Merlin scoffs. “You’re a fool. I want nothing from you nor your father, other than the freedom to live as myself without fear. If I wanted you dead, I could have left you in that frozen river. It would have been all too easy.” Merlin turns around to keep walking but then pauses, turning back to face Arthur once more. “Come home, or go back to Camelot, I don’t care anymore. Just let me live in peace.”

Arthur feels another pulse of pain in the cut on his thigh. His head throbs. He knows he will not make it to Camelot alive. He follows Merlin quietly, saying nothing for the rest of the walk. It’s not until they make it back to the hut that he realizes Merlin called it ‘home’ and how right that had felt.

“You said, the last time you saw me. You’ve seen me before?”

The days following the hunt are awkward. Merlin lets Arthur stay, still in his bed while he takes the floor. Arthur feels something akin to guilt. It’s stifling, the silence. Much more than before. Merlin’s chatter no longer fills the awkward silences, instead they stretch as long and far as a wheat field in the autumn. Arthur can’t see the end of it.

“What?”

Arthur takes a deep breath, chooses his words carefully. Their awkwardness with each other over the previous few days has made everything feel fragile and unbalanced.

“You told me that the last time you had seen me was when I had fourteen or fifteen years, where did you see me?”

“I was at the castle in Camelot when I had about twelve years. I was visiting Gaius. I saw you about, in the castle, on the training grounds. I don’t think you ever noticed me.”

“You know Gaius?”

Merlin smiles. “Old family friend. Gaius knew my father, he met my mother through him. They’ve been close ever since, practically family.” 

“He’s like family to me as well. He’s been the court physician for ages, been looking after me since the day I was born.”

“You know he used to practice magic, right?”

“Gaius gave it up, for the good of Camelot. He made a promise to the king, my father, that he would never practice magic again.”

“Gaius learned to do magic, and could make the decision to stop whenever he pleased. If he wanted to stop for Uther, that’s his choice. I was born with it. I can’t just flip a switch to turn it off, it’s part of me.”

“What does that mean?” Arthur asks.

“It means it’s cruel to be expected to deny certain parts of me, to change something I cannot.” Merlin looks close to tears. “To be someone I am not.”

“I don’t want you to change, Merlin.” Arthur almost reaches out to place his hand over Merlin’s but thinks better of it at the last second. “Weirdly enough, I like you. And not just because you saved my life.”

“But that is a big part.”

“Well, obviously. I think I just need time.” Arthur insists.

Merlin smiles. “I can give you that. Winter isn't over yet.”

It’s not a realization he makes all at once. It’s a slow thing, little hints pricking at the edges of his subconscious until he wakes up one morning from a particularly sexually driven dream. It had been messy, but involved him sucking blood-dark pomegranate juice off the skin of the faceless, dark haired stranger that frequented most of his dreams.

He had considered it before-maybe-but now he was certain. The man in his dreams was Merlin. A different Merlin than the one he knew now. Perhaps a Merlin of the future, one with more hair, lush and dark wild waves, and scruffy facial hair, a fuller face, but still with those angled cheekbones he’d recognize anywhere. It was Merlin he’d been dreaming about for ages, before he even knew he existed. A wild thought entered his mind.

Was it possible Merlin was able to plant himself in Arthur’s mind? Arthur’s knowledge of the abilities and powers of sorcerers is limited. Up until this point, he assumed it was evil, that’s all his father ever deemed it necessary for him to know.

Arthur is more-or-less hut-bound for the time being, his fresh injury deepening Merlin’s concerns for his safety and well-being. He waits until Merlin returns one late afternoon, Arthur already in the kitchen preparing items for their dinner. He waits what he thinks is an appropriate amount of time before broaching the subject.

“So, how powerful are you, exactly?”

“Hm?” Merlin responds. He gets like this when he gets into his work. He’s crushing leaves into a powder, no doubt creating the potion Arthur’s been taking to help heal his wound, and his mind gets lost to it.

“Your magic. You were born with it, how powerful is it? What can you do?”

Merlin looks a bit bashful at that. If he hadn’t just come in from the cold and was already red, Arthur thinks he might even be blushing.

“I’m not completely sure, yet. People tell me I will be very powerful one day, but I think I have a lot of learning to do. Right now I can do small things. Levitation, starting small fires. Stopping time.”

The knife Arthur is holding clatters to the ground. Merlin laughs like he told a funny joke.

“It was only one time, and it was kind of an accident. I actually don’t even think I stopped time. I slowed it, maybe. Or perhaps I sped up my reaction time. Either way, I saved Gaius’ life and I haven’t been able to recreate it since. Like I said, I think I have a lot of learning to do.”

“Who tells you you’re going to be powerful?”

Merlin shrugs. He’s now measuring out amounts of the pulverized plant and adding it to some kind of unknown liquid. 

“Gaius. And the Druids.”

“You’ve been to see the Druids?” 

“Once or twice.” Merlin adds the combined plant matter and liquid into a beaker that’s being held above a small flame. “It’s kind of strange though.”

“I thought the Druids were a peaceful people?”

“They are, very much so. Only they have this thing, a premonition of my future, I guess. Of the sort of sorcerer I will become. They sort of, well.”

“Spit it out, Merlin, we’ve not got all day.”

Merlin laughs. “I think you’ll find we’ve got plenty of time. The thing is they sort of revere me. They think I’m special and brilliant and powerful, but the thing is I don’t feel that yet. Maybe it’s who I will become one day, but right now I’m just Merlin.”

“What sort of premonition?”

Merlin shrugs again. Arthur can tell he’d rather be talking about any other topic. 

“It’s hard to explain. Maybe I can take you to see them, one day when the weather breaks. Now help me put all this stuff away.”

A storm is picking up. Merlin had been out even longer than usual, gathering supplies. It’s going to be freezing cold and wretched over the next several days, Merlin had mentioned, and there is no chance he’ll be able to leave the hut until the weather clears up.

Later that night, the wind picks up. It whistles and howls through the slits and cracks of the hut.

It’s bone-chillingly cold. The fire only does so much to provide heat, and between the two of them, they’ve used up every blanket and fur Merlin owns. Arthur can hear Merlin’s teeth chattering from where he lies on the floor.

“I think I need a bedwarmer.” Arthur announces. He knows plenty of nobles back home at court took up a bedwarmer in the colder months, but Arthur had never found need for one. His body ran hot, and between that and the roaring fire kept up in his room, he never found the winter months to be particularly brutal as others did.

“I think you’ll find we’re fresh out of those at the moment, sire.” Merlin replies, his shivering ruining any sort of sarcastic tone he might have been trying.

“Don’t be an idiot. Get in here.”

Arthur catches Merlin’s eye in the light of their fire. He lifts his blankets just slightly.

“You must be joking.”

“Your teeth are going to chatter until they fall out of your mouth right before you freeze to death on the floor. I can’t have that, who will gather all my food for me?”

He sees Merlin fighting back a grin.

“You’re a prat. I guess you’ll starve to death in my absence.”

“I’m serious, Merlin. Get in here.”

A lot of shuffling happens, Arthur can hear it more than see it. Finally, Merlin’s figure, draped in a fur, emerges from the pile on the floor.

“Shift over.”

Arthur does, making a very little amount of space for Merlin to slide into. Merlin’s skin is cold to the touch, and he’s shivering slightly as he tries to get comfortable next to Arthur on the bed. He thinks Merlin is trying to touch him as little as possible, by the way he keeps jerking back when their skin presses together.

“Stop being a fool, Merlin.” He manhandles Merlin into a lying position and drapes himself overtop. Their legs tangle, one of Arthur’s caught between Merlin’s. Their chests press together, and Arthur’s head pillows on Merlin’s shoulder. Arthur feels Merlin settle.

“I thought you needed a bedwarmer, but your skin is like a fire.”

“Merlin? Shut up.”

_The moonlight is bright where it filters through the trees. Arthur can feel the breeze on his bare skin. The moonlight feels cleansing; he feels pure, and full of energy. He’s in the forest, it’s summer._

_Something shifts._

_The dark haired man, Merlin, is in his lap. His nails claw marks down Arthur’s bare back. They’re both naked. Merlin thrusts above him, gracefully shifting his hips backwards and forwards. Arthur is inside him, he realizes in a cloudy sort of recognition, like his head is full of cotton fluff. Merlin is taking his pleasure from Arthur’s cock with an assured confidence. Arthur grasps tightly onto Merlin’s hips and mouths at Merlin’s neck, sucking and biting as he pleases._

_They fit, he realizes._

_It’s like they were meant to fit together, like it was always going to come down to this._

_“Arthur,” Merlin moans._

_Arthur bites down on Merlin’s neck._

_“Arthur,” he repeats._ “Arthur? Arthur, come on, I need to get up.”

Arthur jerks awake, away from the warm body next to him. He almost falls off the other side of the bed. He’s back in the hut, Merlin next to him, and-

Oh god.

He’s hard. There’s no mistaking that. He can feel it, and he’s sure if he got the courage to look down he’d be able to see it as well. They were sleeping so close, surely Merlin-

“It’s fine, Arthur. I understand. It’s lonely out here and you were dreaming of some fine lady from the court, I’m sure. No harm done.”

“I-it hasn’t happened in ages.”

“Normally I would step out and give you some space to deal with it, only it’s still quite cold out.”

“Oh god, Merlin. I need some space.”

“I’ll get breakfast going.”

Merlin leaps up and heads to the kitchen and Arthur flops down taking up the entire bed, one hand on his face to hide the redness spreading over his cheeks, and the other one pressing down onto his hardness which, embarrassingly, hasn't gone down even a little bit.

He tries to think about any number of terrible things he’s seen. Dead bodies. Boils and warts. Rats. Bugs eating moldy bread.

Anything except the bare expanse of Merlin’s neck covered in red marks Arthur put there himself.

It takes a while, but finally it goes away. Arthur’s cheeks still burn, though. 

“I’d appreciate it if we could both try to forget that ever happened.”

“Sure thing, sire.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. It’s been four days since the winter storm hit, and he still hasn’t been able to convince Merlin that calling him sire and bowing to him isn’t, in fact, a good joke at all. Every time he fights against it, Merlin just bows his head even lower, his eyes shining with mirth.

“Here’s an idea, when winter thaws, you can return to Camelot with me and take up as my new manservant.”

Merlin snorts, shakes his head. “I don’t think so, sire. I’m not sure I’m suited to it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Merlin trails off. Arthur looks up just in time to see Merlin’s eyes glow gold. He makes a movement with his hand and then, from the burning hot coals of the fire flies a small Pendragon red dragon made completely out of embers. It swoops around the hut a few times and Arthur watches, enraptured by the display. It flies back into the fire and bursts, the embers falling back into the flames where they came from. Arthur surprises himself by feeling not scared, but thrilled by this casual display of Merlin’s magic. He turns back to Merlin, something on the tip of his tongue about how amazing that was, but stops when he sees the frown on Merlin’s face.

“Your father would have me killed.”

Arthur almost opens his mouth to argue but, there’s no point. Merlin is right, Uther would not hesitate, no matter how loyal and kind Merlin is. 

“And if you did not know me before you found out I had magic, would you have hesitated?” 

“Merlin-”

Arthur had never seen an expression like this on Merlin’s face. Even during the argument they had when Arthur found out about his magic, Merlin’s face had been angry, impassioned. But like this, he’s cold, devoid of any sort of emotion. Just stating hard facts without a question of doubt in his mind.

“I can not continue to lie to you, you’re right. Before, if I hadn’t known you, I would not have hesitated. But it’s not like that anymore.”

“You would hesitate? But only for me, and not for other magic users as well?”

Arthur couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being tested somehow, and he was determined not to fail.

“I cannot change how I thought in the past. Actions I have taken, beliefs I have held. All I can do is try to be better in the future.”

“And you will be trying?”

“I do not wish to rule this kingdom like my father has. I wish to make my people happy, and to give everyone a fair chance to defend themselves.”

Merlin’s face finally loosens. His expression is not quite a smile, but also not the unmoving coldness it was before.

“I think you will make a fine king, one day.”

Arthur takes a deep breath. The tightness in his chest that he had hardly even noticed was there, loosening enough that he can grin slowly. He places a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and hopes he will not be denied this small gesture of human contact. He gets so little of it these days. He’s delighted when Merlin places his hand over Arthur’s, a proper smile on his face this time.

Arthur discovers he loves watching Merlin cook, but is absolutely useless at it himself. Now that he’s been outed as royalty, he finds he has no problems admitting to his lack of experience with chopping vegetables or cooking of any kind. He burns the frumenty in the morning, and creates lifeless and tasteless broths that Merlin shakes his head at. 

He always has some kind of silly insult at the ready for when Arthur mucks up, the most memorable being clotpole. Arthur still isn’t sure what it means, or if it’s even a real word. Merlin is patient, endlessly patient in fact, as he teaches Arthur how to do domestic tasks. Arthur knows he can be defensive when it comes to things he doesn’t know how to do, and Merlin banters back and, in general, doesn’t take any of Arthur’s shit. But he still guides Arthur with a loving hand. Arthur has spent his whole life being waited on hand and foot, and yet he’s never felt more cared for than when Merlin rolls his eyes and takes the knife from Arthur’s hand and shows him for the third time how to properly cut a carrot.

Another uniquely domestic task Merlin has taken to doing for Arthur is shaving. Arthur is awful at doing it himself, he usually comes out of it with random patches of hair, and red, raw skin from shave burns. One morning, Merlin just swipes the straight edged blade from Arthur’s hand and does it himself. He sits Arthur down on his table and leans into the v of his legs to get close enough. It feels intimate in a way that it doesn’t normally feel. Arthur is used to being shaved by servants back in Camelot, but this is different. He’s intensely aware that Merlin could easily slit his throat this way, but he has a lot of trust in Merlin. He works in easy, smooth strokes, running his hand over Arthur’s shaved face afterwards to make sure he did a good job. The next time he doesn’t even let Arthur try, just sits him down on the table and does it himself. 

Their nights are filled with a quiet warmth, either the two of them working separately in a comfortable silence, or Merlin reads. Sometimes it’s poems about heroes, but Arthur’s favourites, which he’ll never admit to Merlin, are the romantic or sexual ones. Arthur can never tell him how much it affects him to hear those words coming from Merlin, his voice changing into a husky, throated thing when he starts reading the words.

_“Let them put his hand in my hand,  
let them put his heart by my heart.  
As hand is put to head, the sleep is so pleasant.  
As heart is pressed to heart, the pleasure is so sweet.”_

_The pleasure would indeed be sweet_ , Arthur thinks, and flushes, hoping the pink in his cheeks is not visible in the candlelight.

_Arthur dreams he’s taken the throne. He doesn’t look like himself. At least, not how Arthur would view himself. It’s as though everything is slightly off._

_The Raven is there, perched on the empty throne next to Arthur. Its beady black eyes pierce deeply into Arthur’s subconscious. In a flurry of black wings and feathers, the Raven disappears, and Merlin is seated next to him, in finery only matched by Arthur’s own. Only he looks different too. His face has filled out, complete with trimmed dark scruff, his shoulders wide and proud. His hair is longer too, falling in thick black waves to his strong jawline._

_He is Arthur’s king. His equal in every sense of the word._

_Arthur leans over and takes Merlin’s lips in a kiss. Passion fills him, from the very tip of his head down to his toes. The kind of passion that fells kingdoms and spans centuries. Arthur feels himself succumbing to it, falling, and falling deeper into the kiss._

Arthur jerks awake, too quickly to be aware of his bedmate who is jostled next to him. Merlin blinks a couple times, mumbles something that might be Arthur’s name but it’s mixed in with a yawn.

“What happened?” Merlin asks, punctuates in with another yawn.

“Just a dream, it’s fine.”

“Was it a scary one?” Merlin is already lying back down, his eyes just barely open, looking at Arthur.

“No, no. It was kind of lovely, actually. But surprising.”

“Mmmm,” Merlin’s eyes close, and he has a satisfied smile on, looking content and warm. “Tell me about it in the morning.”

Arthur lets himself lie back down, and following the steady breathing of Merlin next to him, slowly fades back into sleep.

In the morning, Merlin doesn’t remember Arthur waking him up because of the dream, or if he does remember, he doesn’t mention anything.

Neither does Arthur.

The next day, the storm breaks. The sun bursts through the clouds in the sky and Merlin throws open the door to their cabin with such glee, Arthur figures his face must hurt from the force of his grin. They spend the day mostly outdoors. Arthur catches fish in the river- Merlin really does not enjoy killing animals, Arthur isn’t sure how he’s lasted so long on his own. Merlin, does… whatever Merlin does. Arthur doesn’t dwell on it for too long because, well.

He trusts Merlin. He’s not sure how or why, and the words his father has said over and over ring in his mind: “ _you can’t trust someone who has lied to you_ ,” and Merlin has lied to him. But Arthur has lied right back, and if it weren’t for Merlin, well Arthur would have been dead ages ago. 

Merlin is all he has right now. So, he skims over the things he doesn’t quite understand, and focuses on what he does. Merlin has shown nothing but kindness and loyalty towards him. Maybe that isn’t enough for Uther, but it’s enough for Arthur.

They make it back to the hut in the early evening, cheeks red from wind and cold, both of them with a successful haul: Arthur with fish, and Merlin with containers of sloe gin he had stored in his shed.

“Made from the blackthorns,” Merlin explains. “Can’t believe I forgot about these. Could have been getting drunk this whole time,” he says with a wry smile.

“No time like the present.”

By the time they’re sitting down to eat their stew, they’re already on their third helpings of gin. Arthur feels warm and floaty and downright silly, that must be the right word for it. He’s laughing at nearly everything and he wants to press his entire body against Merlin’s and never get up again. But Merlin shoves a hot bowl of stew into his hands, and his brain catches up with his stomach enough to realise that he is starving. He hasn’t had anything to eat since breakfast and his stomach is rumbling with it. He shovels hot spoonfuls of it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing with a ferocity he’s not felt before. 

“Arthur, slow down, you’re going to choke yourself.”

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Arthur replies, his mouth full of food. He feels feral with it, free in a way he hardly ever feels in Camelot. Merlin just laughs. He’s reminded of Uther; if he was back home taking supper in the dining hall with him, he’d never be allowed to get away with acting foolish like this. Being drunk before supper, giggling like a young boy, wolfing down stew for the sheer joy of it. Arthur feels alive. And drunk.

They’re starting in on their fourth when Arthur blurts it out. One second he’s thinking about it, the next his mouth is open and he’s saying it.

“I’ve been having dreams about you, you know.”

Arthur watches Merlin’s reaction. The dancing light of the fire causes those deep shadows of cheekbone on Merlin’s face that Arthur has come to find comforting and riveting all the same. He doesn’t react much, a simple rise of his eyebrows, and twitch of his lips.

“What kind of dreams?”

“All kinds. I guess the weirdest part is that I was having them before I ever met you, only I didn’t know it was you. You were just a faceless man, with dark hair. But I could feel your energy. I-that sounds stupid, I know it does, but-”

“No,” Merlin interrupts. He reaches up from his spot on the floor and puts a hand on Arthur’s knee. “It’s not stupid.”

“I could feel your energy, and it’s so… well. It took me awhile to figure out it was you, but I got there eventually. I thought maybe it had something to do with your magic?”

“Perhaps. I told you that I’d take you to see the Druids, these are questions they could provide answers to.”

“Do you think we were meant to meet? In my dreams, you were different. Scary, almost. Powerful. But I didn’t feel scared. You felt comforting, like I could take over the world with you next to me.”

Arthur watches Merlin’s face carefully for any sign of answers, he doesn’t think Merlin is lying to him but there’s a creeping suspicion that he’s wiser than he lets on.

“I know we were meant to meet, Arthur.” Merlin looks away, takes a big sip of his gin before continuing. “I know this is a big ask, but I don’t feel equipped to answer any of the big questions you have. You deserve answers, and the Druids can give them to you. Please be patient.”

“I’m not a very patient man.”

Merlin laughs. “Yeah, I know. Spoiled prince such as yourself, not used to waiting. But try for me, please?”

“I’ll do my best.” Arthur takes a big gulp of gin. As he does, he feels Merlin reach out and touch the medallion around his neck.

“This is beautiful,” Merlin says quietly. “A blackthorn.”

“It was given to me, as a gift.”

“It symbolizes protection.”

“Yes, that’s what she told me. The woman who gave it to me.”

Merlin’s content smile falters, and he pulls his hand away slowly. Arthur wonders briefly if he’s said something wrong, because Merlin is moving away from him suddenly.

“I think that’s enough for me for tonight,” Merlin mumbles. 

“Are you… you’re not moving back to the floor are you?” Arthur realizes Merlin is back to being on the floor in his pile of blankets and furs, leaning against the side of the bed. Merlin shrugs a shoulder.

“It’s not nearly as cold as it has been, thought you might like the bed to yourself again.”

“What I’d really like is for you to take the bed for once and let me sleep on the floor.”

“Ah, so if your father doesn’t kill me for having magic, he can kill me for making the Crown Prince sleep on the floor?”

“Good point, as your Crown Prince, I order you to sleep on the bed tonight, and let me take the floor.”

“As you wish, sire.”

Once Arthur gets settled, wrapped up in several furs, on a large pile of blankets, it’s actually pretty cosy. He curls up and watches as Merlin settles on the bed. He drifts away watching the soothing up-and-down of Merlin’s chest as he breathes.

The snow is starting to melt. When Arthur goes out to fish, he sees it where the ice on the river has begun to break apart and he no longer has to break fishing holes himself. It’s harder to walk through the snow, as it has become less solid and more likely to be wet and slippery. The days are sunnier. 

As Arthur surveys the landscape, and watches some melting snow drip from the branches of trees, he spares a few thoughts to his father, to Camelot. Surely this warm weather means he will be sending out search parties soon. What will his father’s reaction be when he finds out Arthur has holed up in a hut with a sorcerer all winter? All cozy and domestic like Arthur belongs there instead of on the throne. He suddenly can not bear the thought of Uther ever even seeing Merlin. He does not want to ruin what they have, and surely his father would not approve of Merlin by any means.

He makes it back to the hut with four fish, ready to be gutted, salted, and stored. A raven flies overhead. Arthur watches, serenely drawn in as it floats gently on the breeze, swooping low to land somewhere behind their hut. Not long later, Merlin appears from out of the trees looking out of breath and uncharacteristically serious.

“The Druids wish to meet with us. We’ll head out tomorrow morning. 

“Wait, Merlin-” 

But Merlin is turned already, heading into the hut without so much as a backward glance at his name.

“Listen, I’ll not dress it up,” Merlin talks without facing Arthur, tidying up things in the hut as he speaks, as if he needs something to keep his hands busy. “This is going to be weird. The Druids have ancient wisdom, and the way they treat me, well. I imagine it’s somewhat similar to the treatment you would receive in Camelot. Don’t freak out about it. I know typically you would look upon the Druids with fear and distrust, but they are a peaceful people and mean us no harm. Please show them the respect they deserve. Especially the elders, and the leader, Iseldir. If you slip up or insult or harm anyone in any way, Iseldir would not react vindictively, as it’s not in his nature, but they harbour and keep safe many magic users who I’m afraid do not share his sense of peace. They are fiercely loyal and protective.”

Arthur has no idea how to reply. He stands in the doorway to the hut, fish hanging limply at his side, his mouth gaping rather stupidly as he grasps for the right words to say. How to properly express how chastised and insulted he feels without letting Merlin think he would actually do anything to upset the Druids on purpose. Finally, Merlin turns to face him. 

“My God, have you nothing to say? Are you ill? Have I finally rendered you speechless?”

“Shut up, Merlin. I just… is that really what you think of me? That I’d intentionally anger the Druids?”

Merlin sighs. He ushers Arthur in and shuts the door behind him. He gently places a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. 

“Of course I don’t think you’d do it intentionally. I think you have a wonderful heart that is trying desperately to be in the right place, but you’ve been raised to be proud and supercilious. I want you to forget your upbringing, and I want them to see your heart as I have seen it.”

Merlin smiles ruefully. He drops their eye contact, as his gaze moves to the floor. He lets his hand glide from Arthur’s shoulder, across his chest, down to where Arthur’s heart is. _Can he feel it_ , Arthur wonders. The erratic and rapid pulse of it as Arthur’s brain comprehends the meaning behind Merlin’s words. Merlin gives him one pat there before stepping away.

“Come on, let's do something about those fish before they stink up the whole place.”

The rest of the evening is normal. Merlin is in bright spirits, if a little quieter than usual.

When Arthur wakes up the next morning, Merlin is already up, packing a couple of bags with clothes and other provisions.

“We’ll likely spend a couple nights there,” he explains, before Arthur has a chance to ask the question. “It’s about half a day’s walk, in the winter. We should get going right away. Have at it, eat your breakfast.”

Arthur does as he’s told, eating breakfast before helping with a few final things, like putting out the fire and refilling their waterskins at the river. 

The sun is just beginning to rise as they set out.

It’s a beautiful day. The sun beats down in both a blessing and a curse, as the warmer air means the snow is more wet, and therefore more slippery. Merlin moves with a litheness and grace that Arthur is still stunned by considering Merlin will trip on anything and everything around the hut. They don’t talk much, certainly not about anything of deep importance, merely observations on their walk and similar topics. 

Arthur hasn’t been tracking the hours, but they arrive at a seemingly ordinary cave entrance. Certainly not one Arthur would have picked out as housing Druids. Merlin leads. He takes a few steps into the cave, speaking a language Arthur doesn’t understand in a voice so deep he almost can’t believe it came from Merlin. At once, two young men emerge from the shadows of the cave. They drop to their knees, heads bowed in reverence. Merlin was right, it’s surreal to say the very least.

“Please, rise. Take us to Iseldir.”

The guards rise up immediately; one lights a torch using a wave of his hand. Arthur and Merlin trail them deep into the cave; eventually there are sconces set up along the walls to help light their way. The narrow cave passage opens up to a large cavern with a glimmering pool in the center, full of people. They all stare. Not at him, no. They’re staring at Merlin. They all know who he is.

Arthur’s assumption is proven correct, as Merlin receives bows from the crowd as they pass through, and everyone murmurs excitedly. They follow the guards through the open cavern to another narrow passage. This one leads to another opening, much smaller than the last cavern. 

“Iseldir, our visitors have arrived,” one of the guards announces their presence before Arthur is able to peer into the opening. It is small, with a bed, a small fire lit, a table with two seats, and a small number of possessions spread out. There’s also two people already in the room. One is a middle aged looking man that must be Iseldir. The other, Arthur would recognize anywhere. His heart leaps.

“Morgana?” He rushes towards her, pushing past the guards. Her arms are open and she has a smile on her face. She’s wearing peasant clothes, a modest tunic and trousers, nothing like the shimmering finery he was used to seeing her in, but it was his Morgana nonetheless. He grasps her close, gripping her tightly to him. He lets her go but keeps his hands on her shoulders.

“What are you doing here? Why are you-” Arthur’s mind races. He feels at once joyful to know where Morgana is, and that she is safe. But he also feels an irritated sort of regret, knowing how many hours they spent searching for Morgana, and apparently she’s been hiding here the whole time. He reminds himself, _you’ve been doing the exact same thing_.

“I think maybe we should give them a few minutes to themselves,” the man says.

“Thank you Iseldir,” Morgana says. 

Arthur lets go of her shoulders grudgingly; he has no desire to let Morgana out of his sight or even his reach. But he must admit she looks perfectly fine, healthy and happy. He’s not particularly keen to let Merlin go either, which he seems to recognize in that overly perceptive nature of his. 

“We’ll just be in the main cavern, waiting. I’m not going anywhere, Arthur.”

Arthur watches them leave, waits until they’ve all gone before he turns his attention back to Morgana. He pulls the medallion from around his neck.

“This is for you, from Guinevere. She says you gave it to her as a gift, I said I would keep it for luck until I found you.”

“Keep it, give it back to Gwen with my apologies, as I will not be returning.”

“Morgana, I don’t understand.”

“Then why don’t you let me tell you why I’m here. I think we need to sit down for this.”

Arthur moves in a daze, almost like he’s trying to walk through a thick fog.

“I’ve been having dreams, which you and Uther knew about, but neither of you knew the true nature of these dreams. They were prophetic. It took me ages to figure it out. I was always going to Gaius for his potions, but none of them helped me. Finally we figured it out. We didn’t know what to do. Gaius was insistent that I not tell Uther, that he would never understand. Now I understand he was right. He helped me leave the castle, make it look like bandits kidnapped me on a horse ride through the forest. He told me where to find the Druids, that they’d be the best for me, to help me understand my powers.”

“Morgana, I would have understood,” Arthur argues weakly. He thinks of his own dreams that have been plaguing him as of late, tries to decide whether he’d be understanding of Morgana if she had come to him before his own dreams started.

“Would you have?” Morgana says, as though she’s stating fact, not actually asking a question. “You are not Uther, but you were so under his thumb, how was I to know I could have trusted you?”

Once again, Arthur finds himself unable to argue that point.

“Morgana… I’ve changed.”

“Emrys has changed you.”

“Yeah, Merlin… wait, Emrys? How do you know of him?”

Morgana smiles at that. “Arthur, every Druid knows of Emrys. He’s very important, very powerful.”

Arthur knows this, but trying to reconcile a powerful wizard with the image he has of Merlin in his mind is not easy. Merlin, who hums while he cooks, sticks his tongue out in concentration as he makes potions, trips over the chamber pot at least once a week, and reads naughty poetry in the evenings. Then he remembers the Merlin from his dreams. 

“The Merlin I know isn’t there yet, but I’m sure he’ll get there one day. I know he will.”

“And Emrys has made you think differently?”

“Somehow, yes. Something in me wants to please him, and I don’t understand how I’m meant to be King of Camelot if I want to impress sorcerers who were born in small villages to farmers.”

“Tell me all about how you got to know Emrys.”

Arthur shakes his head at _Emrys_. It sounds formal almost, and nothing like the man he knows. “ _Merlin_ ,” he says pointedly, “rescued me.”

They spent the next who knows how long chatting, about how Merlin rescued him, what he’s been up to since then, castle gossip Morgana missed out on, what Morgana has learned since being with the Druids. It’s all very light and enjoyable until the conversation turns to Uther.

“He’s a tyrant,” Morgana insists. “He terrorizes and kills peaceful people like the Druids, and for what? Because they are born with something they have no control over? It’s not fair. He rules without sense or reason.”

“There is reason behind what he does. Magic can not be controlled. What is stopping a sorcerer from taking the kingdom? They could snap their fingers and kill us.”

“Does Merlin know you think this way? These are Uther’s words, not your own. You would not speak this way if you knew what you were destined to do.” Morgana looks shocked, as if she couldn’t believe the words that had come out of her own mouth.

“What did you say?”

“I… I shouldn’t have said that. We need to go find Iseldir, he’ll explain everything.”

“Morgana, I can’t stand any more secrets, please, just tell me.”

“I cannot. Not yet, soon there will be no more secrets.”

Arthur reluctantly follows Morgana as she rises from her seat. He doesn’t know what else there is to do.

They make their way back to the main cavern. Iseldir and Merlin are easy to spot as everyone is surreptitiously staring at Merlin. Merlin smiles at him when they lock eyes and Arthur takes comfort in that familiarity. 

“It’s time,” Morgana says to Iseldir as they approach.

A short time later Arthur finds himself in another room in the cave, with Merlin by his side, facing Iseldir and Morgana who are sitting next to each other across a large stone platform. Candles are everywhere, hundreds of them. Their shadows move dizzyingly around the room, flickering to the light the candles provide. 

A silence stretches out between the four of them. Arthur is reminded of some of the more awkward moments in council meetings with his father. Merlin finally breaks the silence. He clears his throat pointedly before speaking.

“I think Arthur is ready to learn about the prophecy, Iseldir.”

“What destiny? I don’t understand how I could possibly be part of any prophecy.”

“You’re destined to bring magic back to Camelot, not just Camelot but all of Albion, more strongly than ever. You’re destined to strengthen the ties between nature, magic, and the ruling classes of this land. And most importantly, you’re destined to do it all with Emrys by your side.”

Arthur swallows. He takes a second so that he doesn’t just scream when he opens his mouth.

“And when you say Emrys, you mean…”

“Me,” Merlin says, quietly, with just a hint of pride. Arthur knows Merlin is embarrassed at how the druids revere him, but there must be a hint of pleasure in knowing how powerful he will become. 

“Emrys is the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth. And quite possibly, there won’t ever be anyone stronger. He does not have magic, he _is_ magic. He was born of it, and he harnesses it with an ease that no one has before.”

Arthur watches Merlin’s face as Iseldir speaks. Merlin ducks his head in embarrassment, a flush spreading over his cheeks. He knows Merlin hates this, hates the reverence in Iseldir’s voice as he speaks of Merlin’s greatness. He turns his attention back to Iseldir.

“How are we meant to do this?”

Merlin makes a weird noise next to him, a pained sort of groan. When he looks back over to him, Merlin has one palm covering his face.

“What? What is it?” Arthur reaches a hand out to grasp Merlin’s knee.

“It’s, well. It’s written in an ancient text, in the language of the Old Religion.” Arthur turns back to face Iseldir. “The text speaks of a conjoining between courage and magic. In order to bring a balance to nature there must be a sacrifice of… ansumness.” Iseldir nearly mumbles the last word.

“An… ansumness? What, what is that?”

“Virginity,” Morgana supplies, helpfully.

“ _Virginity_?” Arthur chokes. “I’m not sacrificing a virgin no matter what anyone says. Merlin, why would you even think-”

“No, Arthur, that’s not exactly-”

“Prince Arthur, the druids have studied these texts for years and we have come to the conclusion that the prophecy does not mean to sacrifice a virgin, as in to kill someone who has been untouched, but rather to sacrifice virginity, as in to…”

“You need to have sex with a virgin,” Morgana says, a little too gleefully. 

Arthur scoffs. “That’s ridiculous, we can’t just go around asking people if their virginity is intact, and where are we going to just _find_ -”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, more firmly than Arthur has heard him speak in a while. “We don’t need to find a virgin.”

“But, he said for the… where are we going to-” Arthur stops. Merlin’s face has grown steadily more red as the conversation progressed. At this point, he is nearly Camelot red.

“I said, we don’t need to go looking for a virgin. We have one already.”

“But, are you saying… you? You’ve never?”

“Don’t make this more uncomfortable than it already is.” At this point Merlin really looks like he wants the cave to collapse around them, just to end the conversation.

Arthur doesn’t get it. He’d heard all sorts of rumours about the uncivilized proclivities of farm folks, and Merlin wasn’t an unattractive man. In fact, he was quite handsome. Anything he lacked in the looks department he more than made up for with his natural charm and easy nature. 

“It just hasn’t happened,” Merlin continues when Arthur doesn’t respond. “People didn’t like me in Ealdor, and ever since I left there I’ve been living in the forest alone. I haven’t exactly had the opportunity. And then when I met Iseldir, and he told me about the prophecy, I figured there was no point in trying when I could just wait it out a little while.”

Arthur doesn’t know what to feel. He has so many questions racing through his brain and he can’t focus, until one thought trumps all others. He turns to Merlin.

“You knew about this? How long? Since before I came to you, obviously.” Arthur nearly chokes on the big ball of _hurt_ that’s been slowly gathering at the back of his throat. At this point it feels so large he can hardly swallow around it. He turns to Morgana. “And you. You’ve been hiding out here while Father has been sending myself and every other knight on pointless chases around the kingdom for you. Hours wasted, when you’ve been perfectly safe here, discussing a destiny I’ve had absolutely no say in. Not to mention Gwen has been worried _sick_. Well.” Arthur stands abruptly.

He sees Merlin flinch, but Arthur can’t stop himself now. He’s stood up angrily, he’s causing a _scene_ , as his father would have called it. Only now that he’s up he can feel his anger fading already. Merlin looks shocked, Morgana is smirking, and Iseldir looks like this is exactly what he expected. 

Without another word, Arthur storms from the cavern. He hears Merlin call his name behind him, but either Morgana or Iseldir must stop him because no one follows him out.

Arthur wakes up an indeterminable amount of time later, the only light provided by candles that someone has lit. Arthur has a vague recollection of coming back to the room after the meeting he had with Merlin, Morgana, and Iseldir. It had taken some wandering and some wrong turns, but somehow he found it. By the time he made it he was hardly angry anymore, mostly tired and embarrassed. He had lain down and fallen asleep immediately.

Merlin is there, thank the Gods. He’d be too embarrassed to seek him out. 

“You’re awake,” Merlin says. “Finally.”

“How long was I out?” Arthur runs a hand over his face, yawning as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

“Ages. I retired a couple hours after you and I’ve also been awake a while already.”

“I feel strange.” Arthur almost says, _I don’t know how they survive down here_ , but his brain luckily catches up with his mouth in time for him to realize, _Uther_ is the reason they have to hide away like this. “And I’m sorry I acted the way I did, it was immature and I should know better.”

“Arthur, it’s alright. It’s a lot to take all at once. I’ve had years to get used to the idea. I also need to apologize. I knew it was you as soon as I saw you in the river when I rescued you, but how exactly do you tell someone you’re destined to have sex with them? You would have run me through.”

Arthur chuckles. “You’re probably right.” He wants to say more, but all he can think about is the sex dream he had about Merlin, before he ever knew they were destined for it. How good and right it had felt, like they were finally doing what they were meant to do. Then his thoughts turn to Camelot, and how it’ll never be the same for him ever again.

“What are you thinking? I can hear the wheels turning again,” Merlin says.

“It’s just--” Arthur pauses. He can’t quite put words to how he’s feeling, but he’s certainly going to try. “It’s just that ever since I’ve been born, everything has been mapped out for me. Lessons, sword training, becoming a knight, leading the knights, being crown prince, training to be king, marrying a beautiful princess, siring an heir. Ever since I left Camelot, I feel like there’s a crack in that plan that’s gotten bigger and bigger, and now everything is about to crumble apart. For the first time in my life, I know what I am meant to do and yet I feel so uncertain about it.”

Merlin is silent for so long that Arthur wonders if he’s fallen back asleep, but when he searches Merlin out in the shadows cast by the candles, he’s very much awake. Purely deep in thought.

“I can’t answer those questions for you, but I think you’ll come to realize that you can’t change your destiny, Arthur. Whatever you are meant to do, you will do it. Even if it’s not in a way you’d expect.”

“That was almost wise, Merlin. Didn’t know you had it in you.” Arthur thinks Merlin can tell he’s trying to deflect from the awkwardness of baring his soul, but he allows him to move past it and just rolls his eyes. “Hasn’t it been strange? Knowing all this time we’ve been destined to, you know? It’s a very personal act and you’ve had no say in it.”

Merlin shrugs. “Of course it’s been weird. I threw a bigger strop than you did when I found out, but ultimately I decided, I have sex one time, and bring years of peace and freedom to my people. It’s worth it for me. I mostly feel bad you have to do this, when you have your Lady waiting for you.”

Arthur stops with confusion. _His Lady_? “It is not any Lady that causes me concern, it is Uther. He will never allow this to happen.” Arthur says with a shake of his head.

“Well, we were just about to get to that when you stormed away from our meeting. But, I think Morgana should be here for this discussion.”

Merlin keeps a comforting hand on Arthur’s shoulder as they walk through the cavern. Arthur realizes he’s being led back into the same room they were in yesterday. When they get there, Morgana and Iseldir are already there, waiting for them. Arthur is so busy hoping neither of them bring up his behaviour from the last meeting that he jumps when Merlin speaks next to him.

“I still don’t know about this,” Merlin says. 

“It’s alright, Emrys. We’ve talked over this extensively,” Iseldir says.

“He’s right. We’ve talked and planned for ages. This is the best way. Arthur deserves to see her, even just once. She’s the only one who can deliver the truth to him.”

“Morgana, who? Who is she?”

Morgana steps forward and takes both of Arthur’s hands in hers, guiding him away from Merlin, into the center of the room. 

“Arthur, close your eyes. Just trust me.”

He looks back over his shoulder to Merlin; he’s not even sure where the impulse comes from. Merlin looks nervous, but he gives one solid nod of his head. It gives Arthur the courage to close his eyes.

“Aris mid min miclan, minthe thin suna to helpe.” Morgana is speaking in a language Arthur has never heard, and cannot hope to understand. A breeze passes by; he can feel it brush along his face, and he can see the light of the candles dance with it through his eyelids. “Hider eft funda… the on thyssum laenum life the gehldost waes.”

The breeze picks up wildly as Morgana finishes her incantation, and then stops as suddenly as it had begun.

“Arthur?” He hears, in a voice he does not recognize. He opens his eyes. There is a woman in front of him he’s never seen before, with the kindest face and elegantly curled long, blonde hair. There’s no mistaking her. Arthur knows in his heart immediately.

“Mother?”

The woman smiles, and opens her arms. Arthur rushes to her, falls into her open arms, the weight of existing suddenly too much for him to bear alone.

“Son. When I last held you, you were a tiny baby.”

Arthur doesn’t want to let her go, but his desire to see her face once more wins, and he pulls away, just enough so he can look at her. His grip on her stays firm, as though she could float away at any second, and for all Arthur knows, she might.

“Your eyes are still the same, I remember holding you before I died. Those last few seconds were the most precious moments of my entire life.”

Arthur can't speak, his eyes filling with tears. He finally chokes out the only thing he can think of.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, none of what happened was your fault.”

“You died because of me, I can not bear the thought any longer.”

Ygraine pulls Arthur in once more. Arthur’s eyes sting with tears.

“The guilt is not yours to bear, it is your father’s.”

Arthur’s stomach drops.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not important, I’m not here to cause grievances between you and your father.”

Arthur pulls away. His mother lifts her hands to Arthur’s cheeks, brushing away tears that have fallen.

“Do not leave me with even more questions.”

“Your father was desperate for an heir, without one the Pendragon dynasty would come to an end. I could not conceive. Your father, he… betrayed me. He went to the sorceress Nimueh and asked for her help. Only, to create a life, a life must be taken. Your father knew this but he did it anyway.”

Arthur has to close his eyes against the onslaught of tears falling, now. He can’t bear this pain. Surely it will kill him on the spot.

“That can’t be true.”

“You were born of magic. I was sacrificed so that the Pendragon dynasty could continue. It makes you no less my son, nor do I love you any less. Seeing you now, I would have died for you a hundred times over.”

A wind gust whips past Arthur’s face, and when he opens his eyes again, his mother is gone. He can still feel the ghost of her hand, wrapped around his shoulder. He turns to Morgana.

“Bring her back!”

Morgana has tears in her eyes as well. “I cannot. Once the veil is closed, it is closed for good.”

Arthur wants to scream until he’s hoarse, he wants to collapse on the floor and cry like a baby, he wants to beat something with his fists until he’s bloody and exhausted. He falls to his knees. Merlin is there next to him in an instant. Arthur clutches onto his jacket with one fist.

“I’m going back to Camelot,” Arthur says darkly, tears still streaming down his cheeks. 

“Arthur, you know you cannot make it that far. Please, your anger is righteous and justified. But you cannot storm Camelot without a plan. There is a time and a place for revenge. Now you know what you must do in order to bring about the peace we all long for.”

Arthur looks up at Merlin, but he can barely see him through his watery eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Your father is what stands in the way of a truly peaceful Camelot for all. You are ready to be king. You will be kind and just. Only--please don’t make me say it.” Merlin sounds like he’s holding back tears.

Arthur feels strangely calm as he says: “You want me to kill Uther?”

“Uther is a cruel man, and I hate him for what he’s done to my kind; however, he is your father, and I would not wish this on you if it could be done any other way.”

“But, he’s the king.” Arthur feels light-headed and confused. Almost as if he’s watching this scene play out as he floats above the room.

“Uther has lied to you, he has manipulated you. He killed Ygraine! He _knew_ that using magic to create a life would take hers and he did it anyways. Ygraine, who was kind and beautiful and would not have hurt a fly if it landed on her,” Morgana interjects. Arthur had nearly forgotten there was anyone in the room other than himself and Merlin.

“He’s… my father.”

“And he killed your mother,” Merlin says, gently. He runs a hand through Arthur’s hair, and then wipes the tears away from under Arthur’s eyes. 

“Is it true?” Arthur asks Merlin in a low voice. “Was I born of magic?”

“Yes,” Merlin responds. “The magic in me responds to the magic running through your veins. I felt it right away, even though I couldn’t explain it. I thought it was just because of our shared destiny, I didn’t know yet that you had magic in you. I can feel it even now.”

Arthur looks deep into Merlin’s eyes, for so long that he begins to think he can see the magic in there, gold and shining in Merlin’s bloodstream. He doesn’t have magic, he is magic. 

“I can’t just stride into Camelot and kill Uther, the council will never accept me.”

Merlin sighs heavily, the tension in his shoulders dropping. “We have a plan for that.”

The rest of the day is spent with more talking and planning. It feels to Arthur like it will never end. He spends most of the discussions as a bystander rather than an active participant. The most awkward part of the whole discussion, and unfortunately the most prevalent topic, is the sex ritual itself. Arthur must fully enter Merlin in the throne room, in front of a group of druid elders, before Arthur is crowned King of Camelot. Arthur argues bitterly over being watched, Iseldir saying they need to be there to ensure the ritual goes to plan. Arthur talks him down from having sex in front of the knights, the lords and ladies, and Geoffrey of Monmouth, and the Druids, to just the Druid Elders. Everyone else will enter the throne room afterwards to witness the crowning. 

It’s explained that they must bide their time, The ritual must take place on Ostara, the spring festival, in order to ensure prosperity of the farms of Camelot. Ostara is just over a month away. Arthur and Merlin are to stay at Merlin’s cabin until then (another agreement harshly won; the Druids of course want them to stay at the Druid camp) and they are, under no circumstances, allowed to touch each other sexually before then.

“We haven’t been up until this point, it won’t be very hard to continue not doing so,” Arthur snaps. His anger has been steadily rising throughout the whole discussion. He feels like he hardly has a say in something that he plays a large part in. Worst of all is Merlin, who has sat quietly, flushed red as everyone around him discussed in intimate detail how he was to lose his virginity. Arthur feels a mixture of anger on behalf of not only himself, but on behalf of Merlin as well. It is anger mixed with guilt and confusion and grief over everything that was to come. 

“Now that we know what we must do, we will return to my home. We have about a month to wait before Ostara comes,” Merlin says in what Arthur has come to recognize as his “ _don’t mess with me I am Emrys_ ” tone. 

Iseldir simply nods, and that’s it. Not a single argument back. Within the hour they are packed. Arthur has said goodbye to Morgana, promising he will see her at Camelot for the Ostara feast. They are ready to head back to Merlin’s hut.

Seeing the sun after a day in a cave is wonderful, if not a bit painful. Arthur squints under its unrelenting bright light as he stumbles through snow that is increasingly mushy under his feet. They do not speak much on their walk back. What is there to say to the man whose virginity you’ll be taking through no choice of his own?

It isn’t even Arthur’s choice--not that he is completely upset about it. The worst part is that they’ll be watched. However the more Arthur thinks about Merlin’s words, the more he realizes how right he was. It is worth the few uncomfortable moments in order to ensure peace and prosperity for his people. It is all he has ever wanted. All Arthur has to do is have sex with a man he already thinks is handsome. 

He would make it as good for Merlin as he possibly could, given the circumstances. 

By the time they make it back to the hut, it’s nearly dark. It feels a little surreal to be back, as though they were gone much longer than the two days they actually were. There’s an awkward moment as they get ready for sleep, with Merlin assuming Arthur will take the bed again, and Arthur insisting Merlin take it. Eventually Arthur wins out and Merlin slides under the covers while Arthur spreads the furs out on the ground in his makeshift bed.

The days that follow are full of silence and discomfort. Arthur is still unsure of what to say to Merlin about the whole situation. They work in quiet, only speaking when necessary. Arthur whittles at wood, a dragon this time, while Merlin reads, only there is no poetry being read out. Arthur is just about at his limit for awkwardness when finally Merlin breaks their silence, just as they’re crawling into their respective beds, three days after they’d returned from the Druids.

“You’re disappointed,” Merlin says, not angrily, but in a resigned way. “That I kept so much from you, or that you have to make love to me, I cannot tell. Perhaps both?”

“What? Merlin, no. Well, I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t a little upset about all the secrets that were kept. I’ve come to terms with it, and maybe I can understand a little bit, where you were coming from and why you felt you needed to keep it a secret. Although, I think I might have been more receptive than you assumed. If you’ll remember, I told you I already felt it, because of the dreams I’d been having, that we were meant to meet.”

“Then you are upset we must have sex?”

“Merlin, I-” Arthur looks down, he can’t possibly look Merlin in the eyes as he says this. He can feel his cheeks flush with heat. Arthur remembers again the dream he had, Merlin’s body writhing on his, taking his pleasure under the moonlight. “I am not upset about that, I am upset you have no choice in who will be the first to breach you. I’m upset we will have no privacy. I am upset we can’t even practice so we don’t make fools of ourselves.”

Arthur looks up when he feels Merlin’s hand placed gently on his forearm.

“I was worried about it for so long, but now that I know you, I no longer fear it. I am glad it will be you.” Merlin says with a comforting expression on his face, and Arthur is inclined to believe what he says. 

“And I am honoured to be given the privilege to be your first.”

“Can we please stop acting so weird, I miss talking to you.”

“And I, strangely enough, miss your yammering.”

Merlin cuffs him lightly aside the head, but he’s grinning, and Arthur grins back. Everything feels right again.

Their days go back to normal. They don’t really discuss what is rapidly approaching, and decide to continue as if it's not happening. Arthur hunts and fishes, Merlin gathers and makes potions and salves. In the evenings they cook together in their hut. Arthur savours these moments together, determined not to ruin them with his overactive mind. He thinks often of their destiny, of the plan for when they get to Camelot. Of Uther. He thinks of Merlin beneath him, taking everything Arthur has to give him, with a gasp and a shudder. Not because it was prophesied, but because he wants to. As Arthur wants to. 

His dreams do not stop, either. They almost always depict Arthur and Merlin getting to know each other intimately, in many different forms and settings. Sometimes it’s Merlin riding Arthur relentlessly, his hips working in overdrive as he chases his pleasure. Other times it’s Arthur, lying back and taking Merlin to the hilt with a wince and a sigh. Either way, Arthur wakes up hard and uncomfortable. At least they aren’t sharing a bed anymore and Merlin is none the wiser to Arthur’s frequent problem.

Spring is rapidly approaching. The snow melts quickly. On one particular fishing trip Arthur realizes he can no longer step out onto the ice lest it breaks and he falls through. On the same day he sees horse hoof tracks in the snow and expresses a fear of being discovered by Camelot’s knights. Merlin sheepishly admits he’s cast a spell on the two of them, and the hut.

“It’s not an invisibility spell,” he explains. “More that it just encourages others to look past us, and the hut. If you stand still their eyes will just gloss past you as if you weren’t even there.”

A week before Ostara, Arthur sees his first glimpse of grass, yellow and flattened from months under the snow, but grass nonetheless. Arthur finds his thoughts turning to Camelot even more than before. He thinks about everything he’s missed while he’s been gone, the feasts, the training, the gossip. Surely the knights will have a lot to say when he returns. 

Arthur has doubts, of course, like whether he’ll be accepted by the court even though he is the Crown Prince. He also finds himself wavering on whether he can actually go through with killing Uther. His father. He finds in these moments, his thoughts return to his mother. Beautiful, gentle, and dead. Because of Uther’s greed and stubbornness. Arthur finds the thought fortifying. It won’t be easy, and it will hurt, God knows it will. But this is for the best for the entire kingdom. For once Arthur finally feels like he knows what kind of King he is meant to be.

Quicker than Arthur is prepared for, it’s the night before they leave for Camelot. Merlin doesn’t say anything, but Arthur watches as he packs bags and readies them for the journey. Arthur finishes the dragon he’s been whittling. It joins the raven on Merlin’s shelf.

It feels surreal to be putting on his knight armour and Camelot red cloak, things he has not worn in months. Arthur feels a heavy sense of sadness as they get ready to leave. This is likely the last time he’ll be at the hut. He could always stop by and visit occasionally, but it feels like the comfortable rapport between Arthur and Merlin will never be the same. No more dodging each other as they both work in the kitchen. No more falling asleep watching Merlin’s deep breathing. No more terrible tasting sloe gin with Merlin’s fantastic stew for dinner. 

Arthur realizes Merlin and this place are linked intrinsically in his mind and heart, and he’s suddenly sick to his stomach, thinking he’ll never get them back. Once the ritual is done, there’s no reason Merlin will have to stay. He’ll be free to leave Camelot and return to his home, and Arthur has no right to expect otherwise from him.

With most of the snow melted, the journey to Camelot takes just over half a day. The sun is high in the sky when Arthur finally sees the flags and turrets of the castle in the distance. 

The Lower Town is buzzing with activity, as it always is in early spring. People are just happy to be up and about after a long winter spent indoors, and the local farmers are getting ready to plant their seeds. It’s all a bit overwhelming after spending so many months in relative silence, with only Merlin as company. Arthur glances his way and sees that Merlin looks even more overwhelmed than Arthur feels. 

It’s not long before a pair of guards discovers him.

“Take me to the King,” Arthur demands.

Arthur meets with Uther in the throne room. He asks Merlin to wait outside and dismisses the guards. They close the doors behind them with a heavy finality. 

“Arthur, my god. Where have you been all this time? I’ve been worried sick. Are you injured?”

“I was injured, Father. My friend Merlin took me in, nursed me back to health. I’ve been staying with him for the winter.”

“Well, who is this Merlin? He shall be rewarded handsomely for saving your life. I believe you are in need of a new manservant, perhaps being gifted a position in the royal household will be sufficient reward?”

Arthur shakes his head. “He will not be my new manservant father.”

“Why not? Surely it would be an honour for him?” Arthur can tell he’s getting ready to put his foot down, as is his right as King. And Uther loves to take advantage of that right.

“I’m sure it would be an honour, but that honour is no longer yours to bestow.”

Uther frowns. “I’m not sure I follow. Arthur, why are you acting so strangely? You’ve been gone for months, I thought you’d be happy to be back home?”

“I am happy to be back, Father, only I learned some things while I was gone. Things I cannot ignore. I know what you did to my mother.”

Silence falls over the throne room. Arthur watches as expressions of confusion and anger move across Uther’s face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Uther lies.

“You wanted an heir so badly, you used _magic_ , the one thing you always taught me to hate, but the only reason you hate it is because you selfishly tried to use it for your own gain.” Arthur spits the words out, meaning for them to hurt Uther. To make him feel like Arthur did when he found out.

“Who told you this?”

“It does not matter who told me!” Arthur yells, before taking a deep breath and continuing in a much calmer matter. “My mother is dead because of your _arrogance_. Her blood is on your hands.”

“Magic users lie, Arthur, I’ve tried to tell you this, but now you are believing falsities over the word of your own father? Those who practice magic will stop at nothing to destroy us, and their plan is clearly working! Can’t you see they mean to tear us apart? Make us weak so that they may take over Camelot.”

“You’ve taught me to be honourable and noble, but you are nothing but a hypocrite and a liar!” Arthur feels his anger rising once more. He knows he is yelling, and he had wanted to keep his anger in check, but he can feel it overflowing, no longer able to keep control of it. He takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. Lets all the sadness and hurt he’s felt over his mother throughout the years touch every word that he’s about to say. He unsheathes his sword and keeps it by his side. 

“As Crown Prince, and future King of Camelot, I charge you, Uther Pendragon, with the crime of uxoricide, and the use of magic. Guards!”

Arthur keeps his eyes on his father as the guards burst into the room.

“You can not do this, I am the King!” Uther shouts. He rushes forward as if to attack, but he has no sword and Arthur already has his drawn.

“You killed my mother, the Queen of Camelot. That is a crime, and you will serve the punishment,” Arthur replies coldly. “Guards, take him to the dungeon. He will be seen by the council later this evening, and if they find him guilty, he will be hung.”

Uther is still yelling and fighting as the guards seize both sides of him, grasping his arms, and drag him in an undistinguished manner from the room. Arthur can still hear the echoes of his cries as he sinks to the floor, his legs shaking so hard he can no longer support his own body weight. Merlin finds Arthur there several minutes later, sobbing into his hands like a child. He says nothing, just sits next to him until Arthur has cried his last tear.

The council finds Uther Pendragon guilty of uxoricide. 

“I loved your mother with every piece of my heart,” Uther pleads, as he kneels before Arthur in the council room. He can’t even look Arthur in the eye. This is how Arthur knows Uther is truly guilty.

“Then why did you allow a sorceress to trade her life for mine, and without her consent?”

“I didn’t know,” Uther begs.

“You did, you did know, you were just too proud to admit it. You’d rather blame others than take responsibility for your own actions.”

Uther is hanged the next morning at first light. Arthur does not go, he can’t. He holds so much hatred in his heart for Uther, and the way he’s hurt others. How he’s punished magic users for something he himself did. How he manipulated Arthur. However, he was still Arthur’s father. 

Arthur dresses in black and holds vigil in the throne room all day. He accepts no visitors, only the occasional servant who drops off wine, and a few things to eat throughout the day. He has no idea what time it is when he finally makes his way to his bed chambers, only that it is dark out. He knows Merlin is nearby, his visitor chambers only a hallway away from Arthur’s own, but Arthur feels distinctly alone in his. He entertains the idea of knocking on Merlin’s door for a brief moment, but dismisses it quickly. They have a busy day coming up, and he has no clue how late it is. As he crawls into bed he remembers the Druids were meant to be arriving that evening. He hopes Merlin met them and got them set up in guest chambers of their own. His mind wanders, and he resigns himself to a night of fitful sleep.

Arthur is woken by Uther’s old manservant an hour before dawn. 

“Sire, your guests instructed that I should wake you at this time.”

Arthur yawns, hushes his manservant with a wave of his hand.

“Yes, George, it’s fine. Thank you.”

As Iseldir had explained, Ēostre, the Goddess of Ostara, was also the Goddess of Dawn. Their ritual was meant to honour her and must be done in her hour. With another yawn, Arthur ponders why she couldn’t have been the Goddess of mid-afternoon.

“They wanted you bathed, my lord. And hungry. They gave me instructions, and you weren’t around for me to clarify if you actually wanted me to follow them.” He gestures to the bath already in the room. It’s filled to the brim with what Arthur hopes is hot water, scented with lavender, and with flower petals floating on top. 

“It’s fine, you were right to listen to them.”

Within a half hour, Arthur is scrubbed clean and wearing fresh clothes. He feels vaguely nauseous from the lack of sleep and his nerves for what’s to come. He wishes he could speak to Merlin in private before this ceremony happens, but he doesn’t think there’s any time. Or that the Druids would be happy to postpone the ritual just so they can talk. Iseldir greets him outside his chamber door to accompany him to the throne room, where the ceremony will take place. 

“Have you seen Merlin this morning? Is he nervous?” Arthur asks as they walk. 

“I’ve not yet seen him, he’s being attended to by some other Druid Elders.”

“What about Morgana?”

“She will arrive later. I figured you wouldn’t want her here for this part.”

They walk in silence the rest of the way to the throne room. 

There is a group of about six Druids waiting when they arrive. Arthur realizes they’ve set up a sort of alter on the dais in the throne room. There is a rich red throw upon the floor, covered in petals, and a couple blue pillows for them to use during the ritual, Arthur assumes. There’s also candles, dozens of them, spread out around the altar space. 

“Remove your clothes,” Iseldir instructs. “And be seated.”

Arthur’s instinct is to argue back, but he’s going to be doing a lot more than just being naked soon, so there’s no point in arguing. He strips down quickly in an attempt to be casual. His cheeks burn the whole time. He sits down cross-legged on the throw, picks up one of the blue pillows and holds it in his lap. A few minutes pass. Arthur sits uncomfortably, waiting for someone to do something, anything. He’s just about to voice angrily for them to _get on with it_ when the throne room doors burst open, and Merlin walks through, followed by three young Druid women. Merlin looks otherworldly in a light blue cloak nearly the same colour as his eyes. The long walk up the throne room is built as an intimidation tactic, but Merlin looks calm and poised as he slowly makes his way toward Arthur. When their eyes meet, Arthur feels his stomach swoop. He can’t believe he’s about to give Merlin an experience he’s never had before and he feels lucky, and determined to make it as good as possible. 

When Merlin finally reaches the dais, he opens his cloak and shrugs it off, only to reveal his naked body underneath, pale, thin skin stretched tight over bone and muscle. He’s lean but clearly fit from a life providing for himself. He smiles shyly up at Arthur as he ascends up to where Arthur is seated on the throw. 

They’re both seated now, facing out towards the group of Druids who have gathered to witness the ritual. One of the women who had followed Merlin in approaches them with two small wreaths made of pastel spring flowers. She places one on each of their heads and gestures for them to face each other. Arthur complies, shuffling over until he’s facing Merlin. He’s so focused on trying to read the expression on Merlin’s face that he startles when they are once again approached by a different Druid this time, a very old man who is holding a crystal chalice. The man places the chalice down next to them and backs away to join the group. 

Arthur watches as Merlin dips his fingers into the viscous substances, and it drips off his fingers, crimson and thick. 

Arthur’s confusion must show on his face because Merlin smirks and says “goat’s blood,” quietly. “I’ll draw on you, and then you copy the symbol on me. It’s for protection during the ritual.”

Merlin carefully reaches up to Arthur’s chest and draws a large circle in the center. He has to reach back for more blood to draw the next part, a few lines that seem to connect in certain places until Arthur realizes he’s seen this before, in a dream. Blood dripping down his chest from a circle with a five point star in the middle. The pentangle. 

“For protection?” Arthur asks.

“Yes, from evil spirits. Now, me.”

Arthur follows suit, dips a couple fingers into the chalice and tries to copy the symbol onto Merlin’s chest. Merlin smiles and laughs a bit when Arthur has to stare down at his own chest in order to copy the image. Iseldir steps forward and presents them with a cloth, which Merlin uses to wipe his fingers, and passes it to Arthur to do the same. Then, a vial of oil is given to Arthur. His face burns when he sees it, even though it is absolutely necessary for what they are about to do. Arthur wonders if Merlin even _knows_ , but when he looks his way, Merlin is flushed red as well, so he must.

Iseldir speaks aloud a few words in the language of the Old Religion. Arthur doesn’t understand, but the other druids murmur some lines together, and at the end he raises his hands to the sky, bows, and then steps back into the lineup of their audience.

“I think that means we should start,” Merlin says. 

They’ve timed it perfectly. The sun is just beginning to rise, the beginnings of it just barely visible through the windows of the throne room. It is exactly dawn.

“You know, if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

Merlin shushes him. “I’m ready, I want to do this.”

Arthur leans in and does what he should have done months ago and kisses Merlin. He remembers the overwhelming sense of rightness he felt when they kissed in his dreams. It doesn’t hold a candle to how absolutely, soul-fulfillingly _right_ it feels in practice. 

Merlin’s breath hitches and Arthur pulls him in by his shoulders, which forces Merlin to scramble up onto his knees. Arthur lets Merlin crawl over him, push him until he’s on his back and Merlin is hovering over him. Their lips don’t break other than to take a few shallow breaths before they’re right back at it.

Arthur doesn’t even know how much experience Merlin has with kissing, if any at all. He had mentioned a childhood friend once, Will, who possibly could have been more, but Merlin never went into much detail about him. Merlin seems shocked when Arthur slowly works their lips open, if his muffled gasp is anything to go by. Merlin doesn’t even try to hide his groan when their tongues touch. 

He suddenly cannot wait a second longer, and Arthur slides his hands down Merlin’s sides, over his hips, and cups his ass with both hands, hauls him in until Merlin loses his balance and their hips collide. The sensation of skin on skin, their bare cocks pressed together so suddenly, is heady. Arthur groans and Merlin squeaks like he’s embarrassed, but he doesn’t pull away. Arthur rearranges their limbs, one of Merlin’s legs between Arthur’s thighs, to give him some leverage. Using the grip he has on Merlin’s ass, and the steady foundation Merlin now has, he begins to grind their hips together. 

The motion causes Merlin to break away from the kiss.

“Shit, _shit_ ,” Merlin gasps. He lets his hips roll with the rhythm Arthur has set up. “Is it always like this?”

Arthur laughs. “Not always.”

Arthur increases the rhythm and pressure. He digs his fingers into Merlin’s firm bottom and pulls Merlin in harder, encourages him to really let go with his body. Merlin lets out a strangled breath and drops his forehead until it’s touching Arthur’s.

“F-feels good. Holy shit, it feels good.”

Arthur laughs again. “That’s kind of the point, Merlin.” He lifts his head off the ground so they can kiss again. Merlin’s mouth is sloppy and open at this point, too hazy with lust to properly respond to Arthur’s movement, but Arthur likes it like this. He likes knowing Merlin can’t concentrate properly, too caught up in his own pleasure. Their kisses grow frantic before Merlin’s movements suddenly change, his hips get slightly more desperate, and he breaks away from the kiss. Arthur knows what’s going to happen before Merlin even says it. He smiles in anticipation.

“Shit, Arthur, I’m going to…” Merlin trails off with another loud moan. Arthur swings a leg up and around to hook around the back of Merlin’s thigh. He locks them together, hip to hip, determined to never break friction between them. 

“That’s it,” Arthur coos. 

"Oh, God!" Merlin cries. "Oh shit, no, no, no—" Merlin curses through his teeth as his body tightens under Arthur's hold, and he spills his release between them.

Arthur looks up to see Merlin’s face twisted into a pained expression as he pants through his orgasm. Arthur had all but forgotten their audience, except he hears them murmuring some kind of spell in the language of the Old Religion as Merlin lets out another stripe of his come. The situation is so ridiculous he almost wants to laugh, bu this main concern is how upset Merlin seems and Arthur can’t figure out why.

“Why are you upset?”

“I’ve messed it up,” Merlin says between panting breaths. He drops his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck. “You were supposed to… but then I went and ruined it by releasing too soon.”

Arthur didn’t want to embarrass him, but he couldn’t suppress the laugh that came out. Merlin pulled back to glare at him.

“I can still fuck you, you know.” He reaches down to cup Merlin’s softening cock in his hand, which causes Merlin to release a hissed breath. Arthur can imagine how sensitive it feels. He wonders how often Merlin touched himself before Arthur arrived, if this feeling is new to him—or how different it feels to have another hand on his sex. 

“I’m still hard.” Arthur looks down to see his cock, erect, red and shining under the daybreak with strings of Merlin’s release. “And you will get hard again, I promise. It’s alright,” Arthur assures him. “Now you’ll feel more relaxed when I breach you. You’ve not messed anything up. Just trust me.”

Arthur decides they need a change of position. He pushes quickly on Merlin’s shoulder before he can respond and manhandles Merlin until he is spread out on the crimson throw. Hovering above him, Arthur spends a few seconds arranging Merlin the way he wants him. He grabs one of the pillows to place under Merlin’s hips, and then he pushes Merlin’s soft, milky thighs apart before retrieving the vial of oil he had placed to the side earlier. Arthur pops open the vial and liberally coats his pointer and middle fingers.

“Try to relax, and keep breathing,” Arthur instructs as he rubs the tip of his finger between Merlin’s cheeks. He wonders if this would be Merlin’s first time doing this, too, or if perhaps he frigged himself before—had he felt the soft, innocent hairs there, too?

Merlin squirms under his touch and rolls his eyes. “Yeah sure, I’ll—” he breaks off in a gasp when Arthur runs one finger over his exposed hole. His instinct is to close his thighs, but Arthur is two steps ahead and uses his other hand to pry them back apart. Arthur traces at the entrance with small circular motions. He smiles as he watches Merlin’s spent cock twitch. Slowly, Arthur eases the tip of his pointer finger in. Merlin immediately tenses and pushes his finger back out. 

“I said to relax,” Arthur whispers, before leaning down and placing a kiss on the milky smooth inside of Merlin’s thigh.

“Easier said than done,” Merlin says through gritted teeth. 

Arthur sits upright again and waits for Merlin to look him in the eye. “Take a deep breath in, then out.”

Merlin does as he’s told, and as he breathes out heavily, Arthur feels his body relax, and he uses the opportunity to ease his finger in again, deeper than before. Merlin gasps, his hips pushing down to meet Arthur’s finger, his cock twitching again.

“ _Oh_!” Merlin exclaims. 

Arthur watches as Merlin’s hands clutch the sides of the throw. He’s got a large furrow between his eyebrows and his lips are still parted in an ‘O’. Arthur wants to tell Merlin how the thought of him going back to the hut after this was inconceivable. He couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again, but he doesn’t know the words to use to express that grief.

He leans down and kisses Merlin, uses the distraction to start moving his finger slowly, in and out. 

“How does it feel?” Arthur mumbles against the curve of Merlin’s lips.

“It’s…” Merlin’s breath hitches, and it makes the knot in Arthur’s stomach twist with arousal. “God, it’s weird. I don’t know what I expected. But it’s not bad.”

Hearing confirmation that Merlin hadn’t as much brushed a finger against his own hole surprised Arthur, but it also delighted him with a fierce determination to make this experience a lot better than “not bad” for Merlin. He shimmies down until his lips brush against the jut of Merlin’s hip. 

Merlin’s body jerks at the soft caress. Arthur keeps moving his finger slowly in and out while he kisses around the area, one hip, then over to the other, then so close to the soft part of his groin. This close, Arthur can smell the ghost of Merlin’s first release drying into his skin. Merlin’s cock is nearly hard again, just past half-mast, and his second wave of arousal mingles in the nest of dark hair settled at the base of his cock. It’s intoxicating, beautiful, and it makes Arthur dizzy with temptation, but he keeps the steady rhythm of his finger— _in, out, in, out_ —to ease Merlin open, and the seam of his lips anywhere but Merlin’s cock.

One of Merlin’s hands lets go of the throw and clutches into Arthur’s hair instead. Arthur hears him let out a frustrated groan as he takes a firm grip on the hair at the nape of his neck. It feels like Merlin is trying to guide him closer to his cock, but Arthur resists. He mouths the skin adjacent to Merlin’s cock, and buries his nose against the wiry hairs and into the musky scent of Merlin’s arousal.

“Arthur,” Merlin whines. His grip falters and both hands are back against the throw. 

Arthur smirks. With his newfound freedom, he guides his lips against each hip again with the flat of his tongue and just a hint of teeth. When he pulls away he sees they’re slightly reddened and wet with his spit. He moves back toward Merlin’s cock, which has recovered quite easily, as Arthur predicted, and is now flushed and straining upwards. He kisses behind Merlin’s balls, the tip of his tongue swirling against his smooth and velvety taint. He feels his lips almost brush against his finger sliding in and out of Merlin’s hole. 

Merlin’s body jerks again from sensitivity and he lets out a quiet moan. Arthur opens his mouth wider to lick over both of Merlin’s balls carefully, keeping his teeth far away from this most sensitive area. He’s rewarded with a loud groan, and Merlin’s hand coming back to the crown of Arthur’s head to tighten around his hair. Arthur would bet on Merlin not even being aware he was doing it.

“I think you’re ready for another finger,” Arthur says quietly, with hopes only Merlin will hear. He times his hands and his mouth, so he’s swallowing Merlin down as he slowly pushes a second finger in. 

Merlin shouts, voice high and loud, echoing off the stone walls. Arthur feels a surge of pride; he must have found Merlin’s prostate. Arthur feels Merlin’s hand tighten even further as his back arches off the ground. Merlin turns his head to peer over at their audience, and unclenches the hand from Arthur’s hair and clamps it over his mouth.

Arthur pulls off Merlin’s dick, a string of spit breaking as Merlin’s cock slaps against his stomach. “Don’t do that,” Arthur chastises him. “I want to hear you.” Arthur uses his free hand to knead at the soft skin of Merlin’s inner thigh and smiles when Merlin turns his frightened face away from the crowd and back to him. “Just focus on me, pretend they’re not here.”

Merlin pinches his eyes closed and takes a deep breath. Despite Merlin’s visible embarrassment, cheeks stained a bright pink, he uncovers his mouth and uses his free hand to clasp the edge of the throw.

Arthur is fairly satisfied and moves back to mouth at Merlin’s cock, now fully erect. It’s the same pink as Merlin’s kiss bitten lips, and just as beautiful. What a pleasure it is to swallow him down, to have Merlin’s taste on his tongue, Merlin’s smell in his nose, and his fingers opening up Merlin’s hole. 

Arthur pulls out his fingers from Merlin, causing Merlin to let out a small whine of displeasure, just as he removes his mouth from Merlin’s cock with a satisfying _pop._

“Shh, I’ll be back soon,” Arthur whispers. “You’re doing so well.”

Arthur grabs the vial of oil and carefully coats his ring finger alongside the rest of the slick that’s dribbled down from his pointer and middle fingers. Most of the oil made its way inside and out of Merlin, slathered around the soft hairs of his pink hole, down the back of Arthur’s hand and wrapped around his wrist. It’s the price of careful preparation—and his eyes find the small mess starting to soak into the threads of the throw between Merlin’s legs.

Arthur's been so focused that he barely notices Merlin’s hips buck upward, his ass grinding small movements in search of pleasure, as he pushes his thighs wider. Arthur’s gaze lingers up the slender plank of Merlin’s body to see his eyes pinched closed, mouth open and contorted in pleasure, silently begging for more.

Arthur leans down to whisper against Merlin’s ear. “You’re loving this.”

He inserts all three fingers with ease into Merlin’s hole. They slide in with little resistance. To Arthur's surprise, Merlin bears down on his fingers, pushing them in even deeper than he had intended. Merlin likely thinks he’s ready to be fucked, but Arthur is determined to give him one last burst of pleasure.

Arthur sinks his mouth back down on Merlin’s cock, and surges up with his fingers in Merlin’s ass, pressing and searching, until finally, he feels it. He presses intently on Merlin’s prostate and Merlin shouts again, his whole body tight with orgasm as he spills into Arthur’s mouth. Even if this wasn’t part of the ritual, the sharing of bodily fluids, as Iseldir had put it, Arthur would still swallow every last drop Merlin gave him. 

And he does. 

He pushes down on Merlin’s hips with his free hand as Merlin’s body convulses and he shoots stream after stream of come down Arthur’s throat. Finally, Merlin collapses onto the throw. His face is red and sweaty, his body trembling from pleasure and exertion. 

“You’re going to kill me,” Merlin gasps.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin,” Arthur says with a grin.

Merlin looks bewildered. “Am I already dead?”

“No,” Arthur gloats. “You’re just finally relaxed and loose enough to take my cock.”

“Oh, Gods,” Merlin moans, head falling back onto the throw.

Arthur reaches for the oil once more and uses it to liberally slick up his cock. 

He positions himself at Merlin’s entrance. His slippery hands hold Merlin’s thighs open and he feels them quake beneath his hands. 

Arthur nudges his way in, starting and stopping at first to give Merlin a chance to deny him. He does neither of these things. 

Arthur pushes the rest of the way in smoothly, Merlin’s body open and accepting of Arthur’s cock. He bottoms out with a grunt, and Merlin moans. 

Arthur feels… whole. So complete and consumed by Merlin’s hot body surrounding his cock, he feels like he could do something stupid and embarrassing like burst into tears.

“You’re beautiful,” Arthur blurts out, instead. He thought he would feel embarrassment over his honesty, but instead he feels like he wants to tell Merlin over and over again.

Merlin’s eyes, glazed over with pleasure staring somewhere over Arthur’s shoulder, turn to focus on Arthur’s face. 

“I’ve thought so since the first time I saw you,” Arthur whispers, so quiet he wonders if Merlin hears him “I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

Merlin smiles, lazy and still dazed from his last orgasm, and cups his hands on both sides of Arthur’s face to pull him down for a kiss.

“I’m not letting you do anything,” Merlin gasps once they’ve broken apart. “I’ve wanted this. We were both made for this.”

If Merlin had said that to him even a day ago, Arthur would have had doubts, but now, in this sacred moment, there was no doubt in his mind they were both made for this.

While it felt like Merlin’s arse was made to take in Arthur’s cock just like it had, hungrily and eagerly, just as much as Arthur’s cock was meant to fit in there, snug and tight and warm, it was more than that. It was the way their hips pressed together, how Merlin felt in his arms—How their lips locked when they kissed, how Merlin fit perfectly into the cavernous void of Arthur’s heart that he hadn’t even realized was empty until Merlin nudged his way into it. 

It was the way Merlin pushed Arthur’s buttons and stood tall and proud on his own, but made way for Arthur to step into his life. 

They were made for each other.

Arthur drops his head to rest on Merlin’s sternum because the threat of tears falling became a genuine concern. 

It’s love. Arthur feels love. It’s huge and scary, and Arthur feels as though he could be swallowed whole by it if he isn’t careful. He takes a deep breath and blinks back his tears, tries to focus back on the pleasure rather than the emotions he feels clawing their way up his throat.

He pulls out and thrusts back in experimentally, wanting to feel Merlin’s reaction. Arthur’s eyes are closed but he hears and feels the gasp from where he’s pressed to Merlin’s chest. Finally, the threat of tears subsiding, he lifts his head and meets Merlin’s gaze. His eyes are bluer than the sky and his lips pink and smiling lightly. He is so _fucking gorgeous._

Arthur builds up a slow rhythm and Merlin moves with him easily. Merlin’s hands, which once were clasping the edges of the throw, are now digging into Arthur’s shoulders, his nails tiny pinpricks of exquisite pain. He’s not going to last, he can already feel the slow rise of his orgasm building up in him. 

He’s lasted so long already, through two of Merlin’s orgasms that were so devastatingly beautiful to watch, Arthur felt them in his gut. And he is beautiful now, taking Arthur’s cock, lifting his hips and keeping his thighs as wide as possible to accommodate Arthur even though he must be exhausted. 

Arthur lifts a hand to run it through Merlin’s messy hair. The goat’s blood on both of their chests is smudged and wrecked from sweat, smeared from the friction of their bodies pressing together. Arthur feels some on his face, too. 

He doesn’t care, though. He can’t stop thrusting his cock into Merlin, can’t get enough of the way Merlin’s body takes him in, how Merlin groans with every push. He can’t even bring himself to care about their audience. Let them see it all. Let them see how perfectly they fit, how vicious their love is when forged together. 

Merlin makes him feel powerful. Not because Merlin is weak in comparison, but because Merlin himself is the strongest person Arthur knows, and he is sharing his body for the first time like this. 

Arthur loses his rhythm in his sudden eagerness to achieve orgasm, to fill Merlin up, and for everyone, including the Goddess Ēostre, to know Merlin—this beautiful and powerful man—is his. 

He thrusts hard once, twice, three times, and then he’s coming with a low whine in the back of his throat. In that moment of pure ecstasy, he feels like the King he’s meant to be.

Arthur is in a state of pure bliss as he empties into Merlin’s willing body. It feels like it lasts for ages, pushing pulse after pulse of come into him. Arthur thinks he hears the Druids chanting, but he can hardly hear it above the roar of pleasure in his ears. 

When he finally comes to and opens his eyes, Merlin is staring up at him, looking vulnerable and open. Merlin releases his grip on Arthur’s shoulder and uses one hand to wipe away a stray tear that falls down Arthur’s cheek. His mind was covered in fog; he’d hardly noticed he had been crying. 

To Arthur's shock, he can feel Merlin is hard again. He looks down between their bodies to see his cock straining upwards once more, red and painful looking. He releases the hand he had in Merlin’s hair and grips his cock instead. Merlin gasps, and it sounds more like pain than pleasure.

“Are you OK?” he whispers.

“Yes,” Merlin sniffs. “It’s just so sensitive.” Merlin pinches his eyes closed as Arthur squeezes his hand around his length. “I want to come again, though.”

That’s all Arthur needs to hear. He jerks Merlin’s cock slowly and carefully, listening to his gasps of pain mixed with pleasure so sweet until it combines into one and Merlin comes for a third time, his cock blurting out a meagre yet kind offering. He watches Merlin’s body tremble. 

Arthur knows what needs to happen now, as much as he doesn’t want to remove himself from the warmth of Merlin’s ass, but he must. 

He slips out with an embarrassing squelching noise. Merlin winces, his hips trying to bear down like he doesn’t want Arthur to pull out either. Arthur shimmies down Merlin’s body, until he’s eye level with Merlin’s hole, red, puffy and leaking with the creamy slick of oil and Arthur’s come. 

He knows this will feel like too much too soon for Merlin, so he gets right to it. He leans in and mouth’s at Merlin’s hole, gathering up as much come as he possibly can. Merlin thrashes, his body in a war between pulling away from a nearly painful sensation, and pushing closer to such a heightened level of pleasure. He whines Arthur’s name, wildly out of his own control. 

Arthur doesn’t push it, just gets as much in his mouth as he can before he crawls back up Merlin’s body and pinches his hand around Merlin’s jaw to feed his own come into Merlin’s mouth. 

Merlin takes it like he’s taken everything else Arthur has given him: with a willingness that only Merlin possesses. They’ve both orgasmed, they’ve shared each other’s bodily fluids. 

The ritual is complete. 

Arthur breaks their kiss and rolls off to the side. It’s still early morning, but their athleticism leaves him exhausted. He wants nothing more than to retire to his chamber, cuddle up next to Merlin, and sleep the rest of the day away.

But this is not the end. He’s still meant to be crowned King of Camelot.

A few of the Druid women rush forward with cloths and buckets of water. 

They wash Arthur and Merlin down carefully. The water is warm and soothing. They help them both get dressed, this time they put clothes on underneath Merlin’s cloak. 

Within minutes, all evidence of their ritual is cleared, and Arthur awaits his Kingdom on his throne. 

Waits to be sworn in as King.

Arthur wakes up alone in his chamber several hours later. He’s sore and still tired, and he only has the vaguest memory of what’s happened. He knows he was crowned King of Camelot by Geoffrey of Monmouth. He remembers seeing Morgana in the crowd, smiling and chanting _Long Live the King_ along with everyone else. His heart soars when he thinks of Morgana being back in Camelot, and he must offer her a place on the council. 

He remembers seeing Merlin in the crowd as well, smiling, but his eyes carried a trace of sadness that confused Arthur. What could Merlin have to be sad about? The ritual went off without a hitch, and now Arthur was officially King. Their whole plan had worked perfectly. He had wanted to talk to him, but Arthur got swept up in council members and Lords and Ladies offering their kind words. He saw Merlin in the crowd once more, as he spoke to Guinevere and returned her medallion, but by the time he broke free, Iseldir had informed him that Merlin had retired to his chamber for a nap. 

Arthur had pouted in a rather un-Kingly manner at that. He had wanted nothing more than to have Merlin for himself, for the first time in several days. He missed having Merlin alone, to talk with, but also now he felt he could touch Merlin in the way he’d wanted to for some time. 

He’d ultimately decided to let Merlin sleep, but it has been several hours. Arthur had escaped the throne room and also gotten a nap in. Surely Merlin would be awake. Arthur creeps down the hallways of his castle. It is light out, likely mid-afternoon, but the castle is quiet and still after the eventful morning. He’s just about to knock on Merlin’s door when it flings open. Merlin is standing there, wearing his regular clothes, pack in hand.

“Arthur!” He says in surprise, his hand clutching his chest.

“Merlin, are you going somewhere?”

“I… was going to go back to my hut. Spring is here, there’s lots to get done.”

Arthur’s stomach drops. “You what? Why?”

Merlin shrugs. “The ritual is done. You’re King, now. Magic will return to the land. You don’t need me anymore.”

“Don’t need you?” Arthur shoves at Merlin until he steps back into his chambers, and Arthur shuts the door behind him. “Why would you think that?”

“You have your Lady, and I won’t stand in the way. I’ve already done enough. It can’t be easy for her knowing what’s happened between us.”

“Why do you keep saying that? I have no Lady.”

Merlin still hasn’t looked Arthur in the eyes, and it’s driving Arthur crazy. 

“I saw you with her. She’s beautiful, with dark curls and soft brown eyes. I can see why you love her.”

“What are you talking about? That is Guinevere, Morgana’s maidservant. I was simply returning the medallion to her. She leant it to me hoping it would help me find Morgana and bring her home.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Merlin says, dumbly. “I thought it was a lover’s gift.”

“No! You are so...” Arthur breaks off with a huff of frustration. “How could you have doubts about my feelings? Couldn’t… didn’t… I thought you could feel what I felt.”

“What did you feel?” Merlin asks. 

“This.” Arthur grabs Merlin’s hand and presses it over his chest, over his heart. “Can’t you feel it?” 

“Arthur,” Merlin protests. 

“No! Don’t say anything. Just, just listen.”

They stay silent for several long moments. All Arthur can hear is his own heart beating frantically. 

“Can’t you feel that it’s beating for you? You said it yourself, we were made for each other.”

“Arthur,” Merlin repeats.

Arthur leans in and presses their lips together and feels the same surge of love he felt during the ritual. It wasn’t all in his head, he can feel it, as if it were tangible, a soft velvet ribbon, wrapping its way around their bodies. Merlin sighs against Arthur’s lips. They break apart.

“Can’t you see I need you?”

Merlin’s shoulders slump. He finally meets Arthur’s gaze, and all Arthur sees there is sadness.

“I have no place in Camelot.”

“Then we’ll make you a place,” Arthur insists. “You belong here, next to me.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ve seen it!” Arthur nearly yells, before backing off. “I had a dream, you were with me. On the throne. It was the future. You had longer hair, I was greying.” 

Merlin smiles, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Camelot already has a King.”

“But I do not. I am Camelot’s King, but who will be mine?”

Merlin hesitates. Arthur watches as he bites his lip in thought. Merlin’s eyes search Arthur’s, and Arthur feels laid bare. Almost as if they’re still tied together in ritual.

“You’re sure about this?” Merlin asks.

“I’d be absolutely useless without you, we need each other.” 

Merlin smiles again, brighter than the last one. “I suppose you’re right, now that you’re King you need someone to keep your ego in check.”

Arthur cuffs him lightly aside the head.

“I can’t believe you were going to leave without saying goodbye.”

“I thought I’d be doing you a favour, not making you choose between me and your Kingdom.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Idiot.” He leans in for a kiss, and Merlin meets him halfway. He places his hand on Merlin’s chest, over his heart. He can feel it beating.

That night, after the feast of Ostara, after welcoming Morgana back to Camelot, and introducing a terrified Merlin to the Lords and Ladies of the court, Arthur falls asleep in his own bed, with Merlin in his arms. Arthur dreams. 

_The land is lush and green. Flowers bloom, and crops grow with a heartiness and strength never seen before. The rivers flow freely, and wild creatures thrive in abundance. Arthur’s people are happy. He wanders through a field of purple wildflowers, Merlin’s hand in his. They kiss as the sun beats down on them, blessing them with its warmth and its life. They both wear a crown of flowers upon their heads._

_Merlin is Arthur’s King._


	2. References

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References used for the fic

[The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48860/the-raven) \- used this for the title and the intro lines  
[NFWMB lyrics by Hozier](https://genius.com/Hozier-nfwmb-lyrics#about) \- This song was a big inspiration for the dream sections of the fic, and just in general  
[Sumerian Poems referenced](https://www.humanistictexts.org/sumerlove.htm#Introduction)  
[ How to Cast Spells With Your Orgams](https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/j5e888/sex-magic-how-to-cast-spells-with-your-orgasms) \- inspiration for the sex ritual  
[Holy Sex](https://hipporeads.com/holy-sex-fascinating-rituals-in-religious-history/) \- more inspiration for the sex ritual  
[Ancient Mesopotamian Gods and Goddess](http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/amgg/listofdeities/inanaitar/) \- even MORE sex ritual inspo  
[The 4,000-Year-Old Sumerian Love Poem and the Sacred Ritual of Marriage](https://www.ancient-origins.net/ancient-places-asia/4000-year-old-sumerian-love-poem-and-sacred-ritual-marriage-001953) \- and the final piece of the sex ritual puzzle  
[Arthur's Feast](http://www.thefeastpodcast.org/40king-arthurs-cookbook) \- used briefly for food references

**Author's Note:**

> Uther dies.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Please leave any comments or concerns, I'd love to hear them. You can also find me at [my tumblr.](https://inferiormacchiato.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you again!


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